


Another World

by destinare



Series: Caeruleus Aether [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Dreaming, Dreams, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Folklore, Gen, I'll add more tags as they come up, Interplanetary Travel, M/M, Magic and Science, Mythology - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, Possible Insanity, Reincarnation, Talk of Suicide, Tarot, Tarot Readings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinare/pseuds/destinare
Summary: One woman sets out on a journey and discovers a Truth about herself. A prince learns that liminality is not only subject to Space and Time, but to beings as well. An army major helps her charge learn what the phantom images he keeps seeing really are.Their lives are separate, happening in different parts of the Universe, but all of them connected in ways beyond their understanding.An anthology series of shorts based on a common theme.Updates are usually on Wednesday
Series: Caeruleus Aether [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677202
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. The Ghosts of Black Holes

Sometimes, when she’s aware of what’s going on like Damir, she sees the echoes too. It doesn’t happen in every loop. Just sometimes. Like right now. Out of habit she steps out of the way. She knows they can’t hurt her, but she can’t stand the feeling of them walking right through her. She suspects that Damir is used to it.

Most the echoes she sees only once, as if their world and hers overlap for a brief instant across all of Time and Space. There were a few that she sees all the time in different places in the city, temple, and palace grounds. There are two she refers to as the prince and the beggar. The prince leads the beggar as they step through one of the Caeruleus Aether doors. The beggar is always relieved, as if he’s finally home and taking in the sights. Sometimes she sees them in the temple. The priests whisper about the ghosts, watching them just as she does. The beggar is always cleaned up, patiently waiting. His face lights up when he sees something, but they never catch a glimpse of what it is. All they ever see is the beggar jumping to his feet and running to the door.

But as long a Damir ignores them, she ignores them. The only tell is when his eyes will cut to something no one else can see (the priests think he’s blessed. The scientists think he’s an experiment. The palace thinks he’s losing his mind. Miranu thinks it’s all of it in equal parts). This time, though, something unsettles him. He stammers and can’t tear his eyes away. He flinches as if struck. She’s careful not to be seen touching him as she presses a hand to his side. Something to anchor him as the echoes overwhelm him (she insists they’re ghosts, but the prince is firm. What he sees are echoes from other times, but happen in the same place. “Space and Time,” he keeps telling her). 

This time he allows her to drag him to the science academy.

He’s an experiment and he hates it. They run tests and observe him. The first time he sees an echo, thy think he’s delusional (he’s the Mad Prince, after all). But a bright, eager intern suggests thy set up monitoring devices to read any changes around the prince.

“I feel stupid. I feel like a  _ lab rat _ ,” Damir hisses. He fights the urge to fidget, settling for tapping his finger against his knee. There are electrodes connected to his forehead and several recording devices pointed at him.

“This may provide proof,” Miranu reminds him.

  
“Of my insanity?” he snaps.

Before she can reply, sensors start blaring at the other end of the room. They both look, and the researchers follow. “Why are there soldiers here?” Miranu whispers.

“You can see them?” Damir breathes just as one of the scientists asks sharply over the intercom, “You  _ both _ are seeing this?”

They look solid, dressed in antiquated armour but not from their own past. The armour is made of steel and their clothes brightly coloured. There is no discernible uniform, but many of them hold banners aloft with the same emblem on them.

“Do you-“ she begins.

“I don’t recognize the House,” Damir says, just as the soldiers approach them.

“Someone tell me we’re getting this,” they hear over the PA system.

A terrified intern huddles close to them, then glances down at the readouts in their hands. “Everything is recording!” 

Miranu steps in front of Damir and the intern. She’s not sure  _ what _ will happen. She’s not even sure if they see her. She inhales sharply as the first one passes through her, that uncomfortable feeling washing over her of knowing something is walking through her but feeling nothing physical. 

Damir stands behind her, one of the electrodes pulling away. The intern scrambles to reattach it, but the prince waves them off. “How many do you see?”

“A few here and there,” Miranu replies. “Some are translucent. Others opaque.” She looks back at him. “What do you see?”

“A regiment.” His eyes scan a longer area. “Armour?” The noise form the sensors grow louder a more are set off. Something like hope blooms in his chest. Damir pulls a small, red leather book form an inner pocket and makes a note.

“I don’t recognize it,” Miranu is saying. “It’s not from here or the surrounding areas.”

The intern makes a distressed noise, drawing their attention. “I-I-“ They try to speak, only managing to look from the data pad to the specters before them.

Just as suddenly the equipment started blaring alarms, they stop. The silence rings in their ears before someone demands over the intercom, “What happened?”

“They’re gone.” Damir looks around him to be sure before his gaze lands on the intern.

They stare at the prince with wide eyes, data pad clutched tightly in their hands. “My prince, I don’t think you’re mad.”

~*~

The video feed they’re shown is unremarkable. The sensors are going off and there are three people looking at something, but it appears off screen. The screen shifts and a different view is shown next to the first video. A swirling mass is shown to move across the screen, the intern flinching as the edge of the mass touches and overlaps them. Miranu is seen shuddering as it passes through her. Damir remains still, the only visible sign of distress being a deep inhale. The mass passes through them, and just as it leaves the screen the alarms stop.

“I’m not crazy.”

“No, your highness, you’re not.”

“’Sir’ will do for now,” Damir says absently. He peers at the feed as it loops through the footage. “The alarms go off seconds before  _ that _ -“ he points at the swirling distortion “-appears.”

“We noticed that as well.”

Same conversation as last time, but things were different. He glances as the nervous intern. “You saw it, too.”

They nod hesitantly. “I didn’t see as much as you and the captain, but I saw people in-“ they pause, looking for the right word, then finish lamely “- _ really _ weird clothing. It looked similar to clothing and armour worn during our Ramburac Dynasty.”

“Did any of you  _ feel _ anything when they passed through you?” One of the researchers sits poised with pen poised above paper.

Miranu shakes her head. “I know I felt uncomfortable  _ seeing _ them pass through me but not  _ feeling _ them.”

The intern nods nervously, glancing between the prince and the researcher. Damir remains silent, fixating on the video.

“Do you have equipment that can be taken outside the lab?” he asks instead.

The researcher pauses to look at the lead scientist.

  
She clears her throat. “We have the data pads and smaller sensors, but nothing stronger than here. It would be best-“

“There are other places,” the prince interrupts. “The city, the temple, and the palace.”

All of the scientists perk up at that, but the intern shrinks further into their seat. “ _Where _ exactly?”

Experiments are performed all over the city. They set up stations as discretely as possible to record any changes. Some are successful. Most are not. Still, it’s enough to excite the academy to gather more data. They  _ almost _ assign someone to Damir, but a glare from his bodyguard is enough to keep them away. Instead, they show Miranu how to use the equipment.

They quickly discover that certain places in Tymy are more prone to activity than others. The Blue Iris Gate sees the most of it, but most people are unaware of the changes that happen. There were five out of a thousand experiments where someone reacted to any shift in their environment. All of them saw something, with varying degrees of solidity.

Some mention a pitched battle. Others see a soldier with a feathered helm or a woman kneeling on the ground holding a man in her arms. The visions are never clear, but what these few people see overlap with the same time of the readings.

Thousands of hours are recorded at the places where the anomalies occur. They are especially eager to see what Damir experiences. The prince meets with them grudgingly, but watches all of the recordings with rapt attention.

“I’m not alone.”

Miranu barely hears him. She says nothing.

“What’s causing it?” the prince asks.

“We don’t know,” the lead tech admits. “We need more data. We were hoping-“ she hesitates.

Damir gestures for her to continue.

“The anomalies are random, but some locations appear to be more prone to occurrences than others. One percent of the population is able to  _ see _ something, and it’s always the same thing at certain locations.” She flips through her papers, listing all the things he’s seen before: the woman holding the dying man, the prince and the beggar, the feather helmed warrior, a shadowy figure talking through the halls, the column of troops, a small and diverse group of people standing in front of the temple (those same people running down the hallways, fighting something), and a figure in desert garb staring at the center pool of the temple.

“We think they may be… ghosts,” the assistant tech says. He clenches his right hand nervously, glancing from the prince, the bodyguard, to the lead tech.

“You don’t believe that.” Damir hates that he can tell when someone is lying (How many times has he gone through this loop? But he’s never gone down this path before).

“No,” she says, “I don’t. The data collected doesn’t suggest such a phenomena.”

Damir hears the unspoken disbelief in such supernatural things. He asks, “What  _ do _ you think it is?”

The lead tech freezes, then says quietly, “I think it might be another universe touching ours, or a realm. Even another world, if we consider the multiple worlds theory. We need more information. We were hoping for your help. You and the others.”

Damir doesn’t agree immediately, instead asking, “What we’re seeing are people from another universe overlapping ours?”

“Maybe. Like I said, we need more data.”

He doesn’t know where this path will lead. This is the first time he’s ever agreed to go to the academy in search of a solution. Maybe he went to them too soon in previous loops. “What about time travel?”

“Time travel is  _ improbable _ .” The tech puts great stress on the word. She scribbles a note on her pad. “But it’s not  _ impossible _ .”

He thinks it over, pulling out the red notebook and a pen. He makes notes, glancing at previous ones. All of this was new. “Why agree to study this?” he asks abruptly.

“Something is touching or passing through our world,” comes the ready answer. “We’d like to know what it is.”

Damir stares down at his notebook. If this path is wrong, there are two hundred some odd days before everything resets. He can leave notes, but the next time around might mean Miranu doesn’t believe him. He remembers a few of the previous times.

~*~

_ They tried again. _

“Are you sure it will work?”

He paused. Did he lie to her, reassure her that it would work? Nothing worked so far. Whatever evil he was supposed to find and defeat hid well. “I don’t know,” he admitted, leaving the small clue – a piece of paper from the red bound book – in her room.

“What if it’s not there when the loop resets?” she asked. “What will you do?”

“Convince you. Again.” The prince shrugged. “I can’t do this alone. I know that. Requesting to lead the trade negotiations and you being assigned as my protector changed things enough that I don’t know what will happen next.”

“Then I hope it works.”

_ And again. _

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. How did it end in so much chaos? He came to the same conclusion again and again: his wild Fae magic. He needed to find a way to control it, but for all he knew the magic was the reason why time kept resetting.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, clutching her close.

Her breathing was labored, blood seeping through her clothing. His magic did this. His one friend…

He waited for time to reset.

_ And again. _

“You idiot.” Her voice lacked the biting edge that it normally did as she tried to stop the bleeding. She ignored her own wounds. She would survive. Probably. The prince’s were numerous and worse.

“It must be him,” he whispered, then wheezed as he struggled to breathe. “You have to write it down.”

“Who?” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that the book was lost. All she could hope for was to maybe remember.

“The Seren.” The prince craned his neck to find the person in question. “He doesn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“Why we’re here.”

He wasn’t making sense any more. She hoped the end would be swift, and given the weapons leveled at them, she was confident it would be.

_ And again. _

“What  _ is _ that thing?”

“Ancient technology,” the prince replied glibly, fingers flying over the terminal keys. There was a niggling memory at the back of his mind that he can’t place. Like they did something like this before, but there was no mention of it in the notebook. Maybe he thought about doing this so often that he half convinced himself that what they’re doing happened before.

“No shit.” She came up beside him to watch.

“It’s an old terminal station that sends out a signal into space,” the prince explained.

“Space?” she echoed.

The prince paused. He’s relived the same year so many times that he forgot that there were some things lost to his people. They forgot that at one time they traveled the stars and the doorways they used to travel from realm to realm were magic and science. “To the stars above, and to other realms,” he clarified, resuming his work.

“Why send it to the aether? Would it even matter?” She walked away, disappointed, frustrated, and hopeless. From what the prince told her, this wasn’t their first attempt at leaving messages for themselves when time reset. It was, however, their first attempt using technology that there was no guarantee of working.

“I’m sending it,” he said calmly, “to a space station. I’m turning it on; and once it is, I’ll send a message.” He glanced over his shoulder.  _ That  _ caught her attention.

She walked back over to the terminal station. “Why would leaving ourselves a message work this time?”

The prince verified the coordinates on the screen, comparing them to the manual he found. Satisfied, he pinged the station to wake it up. “Because the station may be far enough away to not be caught in the time loop. By the time the message returns…”

It wasn’t a guarantee. For all he knew, the message might get eaten up by whatever force was creating the time loop. Or it might make it through. Then again, it could be caught in an endless loop with them, always being sent out but never coming back in time for them to end this hell they were trapped in.

“We might be able to solve this,” she finished.

The prince hesitated the barest moment. “That is the hope.” By some miracle, the derelict space station was still operational. He typed up the message and hit the transmit button, quickly writing a note in the red journal to check the station in the next loop.

“And that’s it?”

“This time.”

“We risked being arrested for trespassing to send a message?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “This better work.”

The prince hoped it did, too.

~*~

New path, new risks. He doesn’t even know if the transmission was successful. That transmission and agreeing to go to the academy were the two major things he did in the last loop and this one.

“Damir.” Miranu’s voice cuts through the haze of his thoughts. It’s a murmur in his ear and he realizes he’s drifted. His gaze focuses on the tech.

She stares at him, brow creasing. She wants to ask a question but isn’t sure if she’s allowed.

“There was a transmission,” the prince begins lamely, “on an endless loop, caught in the heart of a dying star.” Did he actually send the transmission? Now he’s not sure.

“Here? Just now?”

If he tells her the truth, research will stop. “Yes.”

He guesses he’s convincing, because she nods as if confirming something. She writes a note. He doesn’t know if the tech thinks he’s insane or not. He realizes she’s waiting on something. “Teach Captain Davke to use the equipment and I will come in when I can for further experiments.”

Both technicians’ faces light up, and Damir wonders if this will be a mistake, if this will lead down a dark path-

-and then he feels gentle pressure on his back from Miranu and relaxes.

“We’ll solve this,” the tech promises. “You won’t regret this.”

Regret is the prince’s only fear.

~*~

“What if it doesn’t work?” He’s asked this question countless times before.

“What if it does?” Miranu counters. “You and a few others are seeing  _ something _ . Maybe it’s related to the time loop.”

“Then you believe me?”

Miranu hesitates. “I’m open to the idea.”

She’s  _ always _ open to the idea. He’s not sure if he remembers a time she  _ does _ believe him. He knows he’s better at masking his emotions because she doesn’t comment on his disappointment.

“If I didn’t experience some of it myself, I would think you’re-“ She stops.

Damir finishes for her. “Mad?”

Miranu sighs, saying nothing.

~*~

The researchers gather more data, telling everyone that there will be results soon. Some are impatient, but their prince keeps them calm. Weeks go by and finally the scientists have an idea.

“An idea?”

“We can only do so much with the evidence we have,” the researcher says.

“A theory then?” No matter how many times he lives through the same year, Damir still has trouble with what scientists mean by theory and hypothesis.

“We  _ think _ what you and others are seeing are echoes or impressions.”

Damir senses hesitation. There’s always hesitation. Before he can ask the question Miranu does.

“From what?”

“Black holes,” the lead tech says, earning a glare from the researcher.

At once, Damir’s brain makes sense of it and can’t understand what he’s told. But he freezes. He doesn’t remember this happening before. This is new information. “Explain,” he demands hoarsely. 

“You gave us an idea. You mentioned a transmission,” the tech explains. “We decided to look and we found one. It’s from you.”

He is elated and dismayed. How long ago was that transmission? Which one made it back?

“The message is incredibly old.”

Damir shuts his eyes. He hears Miranu suck in a breath and still behind him.

“We thought it was a hoax,” someone tells him. “We examined it to prove it, but found the transmission to be authentic. We-“

“Play it.”

“Pardon?”

“Play the transmission.”

_ This is Damir Abillard Godris Veldia, Prince Royale and Heir Apparent of the Aestosi Empire. The year is 4576 after the Coming of Man. I find myself trapped in a time loop. Or about to be. I know it sounds crazy, but please listen. _

__

_ There’s a red leather journal that’s not effected by the loop. Many of my notes are in it. What I’m about to tell you is  ** not ** . There wasn’t  ** time ** . _

__

_ <Damir! You have 20 minutes before they break through!> _

__

_ There’s a creature. It calls itself Lyrac. It doesn’t have a physical form. It’s looking for a host. The Seren ambassador Lysacon- He’s - I don’t know – compatible, I think. We stopped it. Or tried to. The ambassador was gravely injured during our escape. _

__

There was noise, and then-

_ This is Ambassador Lysacon Culvuth of the Seren Kingdom of Cailethia. This isn’t a hoax. This is very real. The creature wants a physical form. It is a limitless being, but it’s warped. I don’t know why it wants me. Whatever the reason, it has ripped Tymy –  ** our ** Tymy, from  ** our ** specific point in Time and Space – and placed it on the very edge of a black hole. _

__

_ Scientists can confirm this,  _ comes Damir’s voice.  _ There are temporal distortion and time dilations, and a host of other things. But this thing has trapped us in an endless time loop on the very edge of forever. _

__

_ It’s science  ** and ** magic,  _ comes Lysacon’s voice.

_ We’re out of time. This is Captain Miranu Davke of the 105 th of the Aestosi Empire. This time loop won’t be broken until the creature possesses Lysacon. That’s what it told us. But here’s the thing: if  ** it ** has conditions to meet, then that means  ** we ** have conditions to meet. Everything in balance. _

__

There is the sound of metal being destroyed amidst indistinct, chaotic noises.

_ Find those conditions! Break the loop! _

__

The transmission cuts out amid the sounds of chaos. Silence descends. Hardly anyone breathes. There’s a pause until Damir looks at the team.

“We confirmed the presence of a black hole, but we’re unable to find evidence of existing  _ within _ it.” A pause. “But if we  _ are _ existing on that cusp, it would explain a great many things.”

Damir nods, then asks, “How old is that transmission?”

“…at least a thousand years,” comes the quiet answer.

He feels his sanity slip.

“Because of the time dilation. For us, if our calculations are correct, it’s been somewhere between 75 to 125 years.”

The prince breathes again. That calculation lines up with his internal clock and the journal. “Our situation: does it explain the echoes?”

“We think we’re caught in time dilation because of our proximity to the singularity. This Lyrac created a perfect trap using science and magic.”

“The time dilation and the echoes,” Damir prompts.

“We’re experiencing time at a different rate than the rest of the universe; however, we think we’re overlapping with our… previous physical place in space and time. We might as well be in another universe.”  
  
They drift into silence as Damir loses himself in thought. Miranu watches him. 

For her, everything is changed. She’s part of the solution to break out of the time loop. But who is Lysacon? Who is Lyrac, and why is the ambassador so important? What are the conditions to break free? She glances at the prince. How many times did he try to convince her of what he’s going through? How many times did she believe him? How many times did she  _ not _ ?

She opens her mouth to say something. To reassure him? To ask questions? She’s not sure. But before she can say anything, he speaks.

“We have 67 days until the loop resets.” His mind is elsewhere. This entire time they were seeing people from another universe, across Time and Space. Their proximity to the singularity means their reality overlaps with their original one. Time is passing them by. They are ghosts, trapped in an endless loop.

Damir opens his eyes and looks over at Miranu. “Do you have the journal?”

She reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls the red leather journal out, handing it to him.

“Wait. Is that-“ the lead researcher begins.

“Yes,” Damir answers as he opens it. “The transmission- you said there should be conditions to be met,” he says to Miranu.

“What are you-“

“We have 67 days left.” Damir begins writing what he learned. Just in case. He’s not sure if his mind will still be in place when the transmission is discovered again. Or if Miranu will believe him once more. “We have a limited amount of time to find this Lysacon and meet the condition to break out of this loop.” He looks up. “It’s like a data loop, with two different sets of conditions to be met. We need to find Ambassador Lysacon and determine what  _ our _ conditions are to return.”

“You believe this,” the man says. It isn’t quite doubt in his voice, but the researcher  _ wants _ to believe.

“I’ve been  _ living  _ it, and I just found out that a part of my populace has been, as well.” Damir makes sure to include every detail in the journal. “Gather more data,” he tells the scientists. “I’ll provide you with any information I have.”

“I’ll look for Ambassador Lysacon,” Miranu tells him.

Damir shakes his head.

“You’re a prince. I’m just a soldier,” she reminds him. “I can go places you can’t and everyone knows I’m your bodyguard. I have a better chance of finding him without creating waves in court than if you were to demand his presence.”

  
  
The prince relents. “I think he’s part of the conditions to be met.”

“I know.” She stares at him for a long moment. “67 days can be an eternity. That’s plenty time enough.”

The prince realizes in that moment that if they can’t break free this time, he’ll descend into madness without her in the next loop. Hope and wait is all they have left. All  _ he _ has left.

Maybe the scientists are right. Maybe they are on the cusp of a black hole. Maybe they are existing on the edge of forever. Maybe  _ they _ are the ghosts of black holes from another world.


	2. A Moment of Resonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaera fought in a war and learned some Truths about the way of things: the gods don't care about them, or at least are unwilling to do anything to help the plight of mortals. She also betrayed someone that trusted her. At the time she thought she was doing the right thing, but now she's not sure

The Brocéliande Forest was unlike anything she had seen before in her life. There were colours she didn’t think were possible. Everything was so vibrant and bright she thought she would go blind from staring at it all. The forest was in perpetual twilight, fireflies weaving amidst the tall grass. Everything around her seemed to possess its own light, from the flowers and trees to the buildings and inhabitants of the forest.

“I see why mortals want to stay,” Vaera whispered.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not mortal,” Cinnia said lightly.

“What is this place?”

“The Brocéliande Forest.”

  
  
“Impossible! The forest looks nothing like this.”

Cinnia paused, regarding the other woman. Maybe it was time she revealed some Truths to the Valkyrie. “This realm isn’t just another place. When you come here, you’re not simply going some _ where _ , but some _ when _ .” She gestured all around them. “This is the forest as it was before the coming of Man, when the very air and every blade of grass was steeped in magic. This is the world as it once was.” She watched as Vaera struggled with this new piece of information. 

“We are… in the past?” Vaera whispered. She looked up and saw the millions of stars glittering in the sky. Were there always this many stars? Was the moon and sky always this pale green? She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The air was sweet. Far sweeter than she could recall in her long life. She could feel magic pulsing around her, nearly taste it. She looked at Cinnia after a moment, bewildered as she tried to make sense of it all.

“Surely you heard the tales of how a mortal disappeared for hundreds of years but when returned appeared to have barely aged,” Cinnia said quietly.

Vaera nodded uncertainly. What was Cinnia getting at?  


“Time passes here as it does in other places, but not as quickly as it does in the realm of Man.”

“How much-“ Vaera cleared her throat, tried again. “How much time will pass?”

“That depends.” She pointed back the way they came. “If you leave through the forest, time spent here is doubled out there. If you leave through the hidden path a thousand years or more could pass.”

“…I need to be careful which way I take out,” Vaera said slowly.

Cinnia shrugged. “If that’s what you want.” Vaera was still coming to grips with everything, so she said, “I Know this changes some things for you-“

“I thought traveling through time was impossible,” Vaera blurted.

“Is  _ that _ what you’re worried about?” Cinnia suppressed her amused smile when she saw Vaera’s worried frown. 

“We exist in the flow of time. We don’t have a way-“ Vaera paused, searching her memory for anything that could explain how someone could travel through time. “I didn’t  _ think _ there was-“

Cinnia laughed, not unkindly. “I can tell you all about it, but let’s get you settled in.”

There were so many questions that Vaera could hardly keep track of them. She looked all about her, trying to take in as much as she could. The stars still overwhelmed her with their abundance and kept her gaze to brief glances. 

After her first night, Vaera went wandering. She felt like a child discovering the world for the first time. She stumbled into glades only to flush out fireflies and the smaller fae; she worshiped the moon, so big and breath, and welcomed the stars on moonless nights. She learned their ways and their rules. She never thanked the fae for their help, but did express her appreciation. Cinnia warned her long ago to never give her Name, and always told any inquiring fae that they could call her Myra. She was careful to steer clear of deals and promises. As careful as she was, Vaera wasn’t’ able to avoid all mischief. 

She found herself caught up in the wild dance of her current companions – she couldn’t quite call them friends. They didn’t have her best interests at heart. She was, after all, not one of them – and twirled in abandon with them in their mad dance.

Something flickered in the center of their circle. Other dancers that were decidedly mortal as they were caught up in the magic of their frantic dancing. Magic twined about and through them, creating a glimmering visage of the people they caught. Was this how mortals were ensnared in faerie circles?

The dancing reached a fever pitch and Vaera was whisked with the Fae away from the circle. With a breathless laugh she followed them blindly. A nagging voice in the back of her head warned her to be careful. She slowed, but the warning was forgotten as one of the fae – blue like the sky on a perfect day – grabbed her hand and pulled Vaera after them.

“Where are we going?” Vaera gasped, trying to catch her breath as she stumbled after them.

“To dance among the stars!” the blue fae said gleefully. They pulled her along, darting between foliage as they slipped further into the darkness.

The Voice returned, and with it a sense of unease. “The stars?” Vaera echoed, not comprehending.

“Yes! It’s beautiful!”

It was a cave, Vaera told herself as they reached the mouth of a dark opening. It had rocks that looked like stars, she assured herself. She plunged into the darkness after the others.

Her mind couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. There were pinpricks of light near and far, and not far from where the fae were dancing – were they flying? Floating? – there was a ball. No, it was a marble. Blue, green, and white. There was darkness everywhere, with a bone chilling cold.

Vaera clamped her eyes shut, vision swirling, and fell to her knees. What was going on? What was she looking at? Was this a vision of Hel? Maybe it was Chaos.

She heard screaming, and it was a moment before she realized it was her. She couldn’t stop, and she fell endlessly into the cold blackness when she forced her eyes open. She curled in on herself, covering her eyes as she continued to scream.

It was the comforting smell of earth and plants that brought her back. She sobbed into the dirt, taking in great lungfuls of the sweet smelling air of the forest. She cracked open one eye to be sure of her surroundings. It was the forest, with its strange glowing plants and mysterious source of light.

“Are you hurt?”

Vaera recognized Cinnia’s lilting voice. She swung her gaze around until she spotted the elf. Raising her shaking hands, she nodded. “What was that?” she whispered, fists clenching the damp earth.

“A Truth.”

The inflection in Cinnia’s voice made Vaera consider her words. “What is a ‘Truth?’”

Cinnia considered the other woman for a long moment. “The world as it truly is. The glamour lifted from your eyes,” she said. 

“Was I- was I really out – “ Vaera could feel the panic build. The vast nothingness, the marble in the middle of the white pinpricks-

“Breathe. Focus on your immediate surroundings,” Cinnia advised. “When you’re ready, I’ll show you many Truths.”

“Are all of them like this?” Vaera choked out. She focused on the grass in front of her, willing the panic down.

“Like what you saw?”

Vaera nodded.

“No. What you saw is one of the more difficult Truths of the Universe,” Cinnia said. She approached Vaera slowly, kneeling in front of her. “We see the world around us in ways that our minds can understand. You weren’t ready for what you saw. I can prepare you.”

“I want to understand, or I fear my vision will drive me mad,” Vaera choked out. She pressed hands to her eyes, trying to block out the swirling darkness.

“Then I will help you.”

~*~

It was days – weeks? Months? – before Vaera was ready. Changing someone’s world view was not a task to take lightly. When Cinnia felt the Valkyrie was ready, she began with the easiest of Truths. 

“Science and magic are often the same,” Cinnia said.

Vaera kept that in mind as the world slowly unveiled before her. She knew her home was round, and simply assumed the other places were on her world but were protected by magic. The reality was far different. While the Fae realm was a certainly maintained by magic, the heavens were much like them, (and so were the realms below, Vaera suspected). The other realms were  _ not _ other places. They were whole worlds.

The marble she saw in the unending blackness was a world. The tiny pinpricks of light were stars and other worlds. “All of the realms are other worlds?” Vaera’s voice was hushed as she stared up at the stars. Some twinkled and others seemed to glow steadily. Cinnia told her that the stars that didn’t twinkle were worlds. All she could picture in her mind were marbles spinning in that vast blackness.

“Most of them,” Cinnia answered.

“How do you reach them?” She wondered if they flew, like her. But if people couldn’t get to these other worlds by magic how did they traverse the great blackness?

“We use magic to reach them. You are a divine being, able to travel where you please.”

“But what of people?”

“We bring them, or they use doorways. Some build… chariots – ships-“ Cinnia corrects herself “-to sail between the worlds.”

“Sky chariots,” Vaera whispered, staring up at the stars. She frowned and looked back at her friend. “What about doorways?”  


“It’s magic and science.” Cinnia rose from her perch, beckoning Vaera to follow her. “The fae helped build it when Man arrived. They call it the ‘caeruleus aether.’” They approached a simple wooden arch. The frame was hand carved with intricate designs that seemed to be part of the vines and flowers that were slowly reclaiming the wood. “Each door connects two points in the universe. No more. No less. If one of the connected doors is destroyed, that point is no longer accessible.” With a touch she the arch hummed to life, glowing faintly with a pale blue light.

Vaera peered through the space in the arch, but saw nothing. “Does it always look like this?”

Cinnia glanced at the arch, and to the emptiness with in. “No. You would be able to see your destination if the other door was still working.”

“What would happen if you stepped into it?”

“You would be left floating in that black emptiness.”

Vaera stumbled back, inhaling sharply. She didn’t want to relive the experience, even if she was capable of moving to a destination of her choosing. “And it’s called the ‘caeruleus aether’ because of the glow?” She looked everywhere but at the emptiness in the frame. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she sighed in relief when Cinnia released the magic of the arch.

Cinnia considered Vaera for a moment. She knew Vaera was running from something, and had no desire to leave the forest in the foreseeable future. Something broke her. What the Valkyrie needed was purpose. Focus. “Would you like to see the others?” 

“There are more doors? Ones that go somewhere?” 

Maybe this was it. A quest. No, an adventure. “Not here,” the fae admitted, “but I know where others are located. Our maps are a bit outdated, I’m afraid. Even  _ I _ don’t know where all of them are and where they go.”

“Has anyone traveled through all of them?”

“I’m sure some have, but our maps are incomplete at this point. We should update them…” Cinnia trailed off, hoping Vaera would grasp on to the idea presented. 

“When traveling through a door, are we effected by time the same way as when I leave the forest by one of the paths?” 

“Hundreds of years won’t pass, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Cinnia assured her.

“Could we go anywhere?”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t, but some of the pathways may not exist anymore. There might be new doors built, leading to new worlds and realms.” Maybe the temptation to see new places would be enough. “We could certainly see some of the oldest worlds.”

“Older than here?” Vaera gestured to the forest around them.

Cinnia laughed. “The forest is quite young in comparison.”

“What could possibly be older?” The Valkyrie thought of her own world and a few others that she’d seen. Some of the worlds were ancient. What could be older than those worlds?

“There are worlds that are older the closer we get to the center,” Cinnia explained. “We could find the birthplace of Man.” She watched Vaera for her reaction, saw the interest flicker across the other woman’s face. “It’s far from here. Traveling by the Caeruleus Aether will take time. But we could see other worlds. We could see the world where the legends of vampires and monsters sprang from, see the castle made of red stone where all knowledge is accumulated…”

“Worlds I’ve never seen before,” Vaera whispered.

“We could map the path between the stars. We could visit any world you want.” She watched Vaera stare up at the sky as she came to a decision.

“I’d like to see these worlds.”

~*~

There was only one other Caeruleus Aether door that worked, and it lead to a world called Hyperborea. It was a place of sunshine and greenery. The days were long and the nights short. It reminded Vaera of the summers in the north, farming what land was available and fishing. Cinnia’s constant companion Aodhàn joined them on their trek, and he was meticulous in his notes and updates of the map he kept tucked in a journal.

They came across a few Boreades, and they seemed content and not at all bothered by the first visitors to their fair lands in decades. It took them four days to reach the next door. By that time they were sick of the constant wind.

“They’re the offspring of Boreas and the snow nymph Khione,” Cinnia said.

“Boreas?” Vaera asked. She pulled at the strap across her chest to move it off her neck.

“The North Wind,” Aodhàn grumbled, yanking the collar of his coat up to block some of the wind.

It was a relief to pass through the door, but were greeted by mountains and rain.

Aodhàn laughed. “We leave one extreme for another. Where are we, sister?” He breathed deep, relishing the smell of the rain.

“Depends,” Cinnia hedged. “If we come across the Hyades, then we’re in Nysa.” But they could be anywhere. A realm, a world, a different time entirely.

“There’s a river nearby.” Aodhàn gestured down the mountainside. “Trail should lead us there.”

They began their trek down slowly. Of the three of them only Cinnia seemed miserable with the constant downpour. The rain lessened to a fine mist as they reached the river. They camped there for the night before moving on.

The village emerged from the rain and fog slowly. They were greeted cautiously by the villagers, most of them staring at Vaera warily.

“Where are we?” Cinnia politely asked. “What world?” Manners went a long way, even among the fae. But these people were scared. They were hiding from something or someone.

“Nysa, where children of Man are unwelcome,” one answered stiffly.

Cinnia and Aodhàn looked at Vaera, who said, “I was once, in life. I died.” She decided not to elaborate, and waited for a reaction.

“You’re a shade?” another asked.

“Yes,” Vaera answered, “given physical form by my gods to deliver messages.”

The fae that first spoke approached hesitantly, and the Valkyrie felt the tentative pressure of the fae magic to see if she was lying.

“You’re not mortal,” the fae confirmed. 

Cinnia cleared her throat. “Our intention was not to alarm you. We came from the Caeruleus Aether near the false summit of the mountain.” She gestured back the way they came. “Where is the next door?”

“We thought the pathway here was limited and near impossible.” The fae shifted their weight nervously. 

Cinnia knew without a doubt that they were hiding from mortals, mostly Man. They wanted to be left alone. “We started in the Brocéliande Forest and came by way of Hyperborea. You’re still safe,” Cinnia assured them. “We’re confirming the open doorways because one of them in the forest is no longer working.” More half truths, but it was enough to calm everyone.

“The only other working door is on the edge of town. The rest have been disabled,” one said helpfully.

Aodhàn scanned the crowd. There was relief that they would be left alone, but the three of them were still outsiders. “We should leave,” he murmured.

Cinnia made a noise of acknowledgement, then asked, “Where does the door lead?”

“Óros Ólimbos.”

~*~

“There are fifty-two peaks. Fifty-two! What idi-“

“Some of the gods live here,” Vaera interjected, giving Aodhàn a meaningful look. She pulled her coat closer about her to ward off the chill wind as it whipped about them.

“You’ve been here before?” Cinnia’s tone was sharper than intended. The Valkyrie did say she visited some places, mostly Gaea, but only by orders of the gods.

Vaera shook her head. “No, but some of the gods mentioned the name and that they live here. Some are probably here right now.”

Cinnia mumbled something under her breath.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Each peak will have its own door, no doubt.’”

They looked out over the mountain range. Not including the one they emerged from, there were fifty-one different places they could travel to.

“Why so many?” Aodhàn took a few steps forward to gauge the steepness of the mountain and if they need to scale anything.

“The Ólimbos gods have a closer relationship with their worshipers than many others,” Vaera replied. “All of the doors and arches are probably different locations in the mortal realm.”

“Good enough.” Aodhàn started down a trail leading left. “We either stop and camp to rest or pick the closest door.”

“We camp,” Cinnia said firmly. “I would like to be dry after all of that rain.”

All of their coats were damp. If they didn’t allow them to dry, it was possible that water would seep into their clothes. Vaera wasn’t sure about the other two, but she found traveling wet and cold unpleasant at best.

“Let’s get out of the wind first.” Aodhàn waved for the others to follow.

They found a small outcropping from the mountain to hide from the wind. There were the remains of a small firepit, with bits of bone and signs that others used the same spot for shelter. They took off their coats and draped them over rocks to dry out and settled around the fire that Aodhàn lit.

Vaera frowned. When did Aodhàn light a fire? Was it magic? She was about to ask when Cinnia spoke. 

“We’ll need to come back through and check all fifty-two doorways to confirm where they go.” The elf wrote neat, prices notes on the map next to the doors and arches they passed through already. Satisfied, she waited for the ink to dry before folding the map up and tucking it back inside her bag. She settled herself before the fire, holding her hands out to its feeble warmth. “Fifty-two doors and everything looks the same. It’s too easy to get lost.”

“Is that why we’re going to the closest door and not bothering with the other doors?”

The elf shrugged. “if the door is working, we won’t get turned around here. We might be lost, but we will be out of this maze.”  
  
“And if the door isn’t working?”

“We try the next one.”

They decided to wait until the morning before ascending the nearby peak. Aodhàn and Vaera ate their dried meat while Cinnia ate fruit and nuts in silence. 

“Aodhàn,” Vaera asked suddenly, “why did you call Cinnia ‘sister?’”

He glanced at her before shrugging. “Because she is.”

Vaera wanted to ask more, but Aodhàn and Cinnia had stilled when she asked her question. Maybe they were chosen family. Gods knew she did the same. She let it be.

In the morning, they broke camp and began their ascent of the nearby peak. When the door resonated it was with a great deal of relief that it didn’t lead to darkness. It was another peak higher than the one they just climbed. It seemed to touch the stars in the night sky. 

“We either climb the peak on the other side of the door or climb another peak on this side tomorrow.” Aodhàn sighed, glancing through the door before looking for the closest summit. “we can go back the way we came. That mountain is closer. The next closest is two, maybe three more days away.”

Cinnia peered through the stone archway, hmming thoughtfully. “This one seems to reach the stars,  _ and _ there are stairs.”

“Stairs?” Vaera craned her neck to look around Cinnia as Aodhàn loomed over them.

“Maybe they take us to the top and go down the other side,” Cinnia mused.

“We-we wouldn’t suddenly float from the stairs into the stars, would we?” Vaera clenched her hands, heart racing as she willed herself to remain calm.

“We’ll keep you firmly on the stairs,” Cinnia assured her. She unwound a bit of ribbon from her wrist. “Here,” she said, tying one end to Vaera’s wrist and the other to her own,”this will keep you with me.”

“It’s just ribbon.” Vaera’s voice held a slight tremor as she spoke, looking down at the flimsy, pale green ribbon.

“Made by the fair folk,” Cinnia pointed out. “’Tis strong enough to tether you to me if you float away.”

“Are we going through this door?” Aodhàn asked, impatience colouring his voice. He didn’t like waiting, and he wanted to be out of the wind that whipped around the peaks of Ólimbos. 

Cinnia looked back through the door, at the towering stairs built into the mountain. “Might as well. It will be easier with the stairs, even if it’s cold.”

They slowly stepped through the archway one by one. The night sky and a multitude of stars greeted them. It was neither hot nor cold, and the steps were well maintained. There was a merchant stall at the foot of the stairs with a sleep proprietor. She jerked awake when she realized that people were standing in front of her.

She flushed bright red. “Do you need supplies as you climb the stairs of Nibiru?”

“Is that the name of the mountain?” Cinnia asked.

The merchant shook her head. “It’s the name of this place. Is this your first time here?”

“Yes,” Cinnia answered, “and we’re a bit lost.”

The other woman paused to look at the group. They were tired and windswept, but otherwise unhurt. “Did you come here from the mortal realm or from the gods?”

“Ólimbos.” Cinnia frowned, glancing at Vaera and Aodhàn. “What does that have to do with anything?”  


The merchant smiled brightly. “At the top of the stairs you can either return to the gods’ realms or go to the mortal realm. You can see the guiding star at the top and figure out where you are. Nibiru is-“ she paused, searching for the right words “-more of a crossing point. It’s one of the few places in the Universe that touches more than one realm.”

Cinnia looked up at the stairs thoughtfully, her friends following her gaze. She looked back at the merchant. “Why are  _ you _ here?” She peered at the woman, taking in all the details she could. Was this actually a divine attendant? It was possible. What mortal in their right mind would set up shop in a such a remote place? “What do you have?” she asked finally when all the merchant did was smile.

They haggled and bartered over supplies, replenishing food, drink, and a few items that might help on the climb. They decided to rest before attempting the climb.

The first day saw them a quarter of the way up the stairs. The merchant warned them that the climb to the top would take several days. The first night they slept without a word, Vaera clutching either Cinnia’s hand or Aodhàn’s arm.

The following day, Cinnia spoke. “When I was little Caolán took me into the forest to catch frogs. It’s always twilight in my ancestral home, the world teeming with its own luminous light. I remember something catching my eye.”

“What was it?” Vaera asked, voice tremulous. She was watching Cinnia climb the steps in front of her, no longer focusing on the stars that seemed to grow bigger the higher they climbed.

“A will’o’wisp. It was small, glowing with its own light. I thought it was a firefly or one of the smaller, friendly faeries. It led me deeper into the forest. I was thrilled to follow my new friend. Before I knew it, I was led to a swamp. It intended to drown me and feast on my flesh. Before it could, a woman rescued me.

“I didn’t know it at the time, but the will’o’wisp took me from the Forest to some other realm. When the woman realized what happened, she tried to take me home. Trouble is, the realm I found myself in didn’t connect or overlap with the other realms very often. By the time she found a functioning door, the connection was already severed.”

Vaera’s gaze was steady as she listened to the story. She could glance at her surroundings without panicking, which was a vast improvement. She still clung to the ribbon that tethered her to the other woman. “Did she raise you?”

“She did,” Cinnia answered, smiling. “She took me to her home. I met Aodhàn then. He was a little older than me. She raised me, even as she searched for a way to send me home.

“I think Caolán blames her and Aodhàn for my upbringing. I grew up in a forest steeped in ancient magics and deep reverence for nature. Caolán told me I was more wildling than fae.”

Vaera couldn’t help but feel that Cinnia was leaving certain details out. Aodhàn was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual. “How did Caolán find you?”

“Luck,” came the terse reply. “He thought he was saving me.” Aodhàn snorted at that, but she continued. “The realms overlapped and I was taken to the Forest. I was so happy in the valley. I wanted to stay, and I fought the entire way.

“They had to lock the doors to keep me from escaping. I found many secret pathways, but none that led me back to my home. I gave up after awhile. I knew every way out and been to a dozen worlds, but none that led me home.”

Cinnia paused, glancing behind her. Vaera was focused on her, but clearly fatigued. Aodhàn looked irritated, but none of it was directed at them. “We can rest for the day,” she suggested. “I think we’re close to the top.”

Vaera sat down on a step with relief. “Will you finish your story?” She rummaged around in her own sack for something to eat.

Cinnia glanced at Aodhàn, who nodded. “Of course.” She settled down onto the step she was standing on, looking out across the night sky. It was twilight at the bottom of the stairs, but the cloak of night was slowly descending on them the higher they climbed. Stars that looked distant were closer now and Cinnia wondered if they were climbing their way to a very specific star in the heavens.

“Was I at the point that I stopped trying to escape?”

“Yes.”

“I fell into a routine. I didn’t trust my fae mother, and I didn’t quite trust Caolán. I wanted to. He made the most effort to help me adjust. In the end, he agreed with my mother to lock me up until the fight left me. I am a princess, and should act like one.

“I began to dress the way they wanted me to, took lessons, and practiced my manners. I think Caolán was the one who suggested a protector. Not in a way that they would be my keeper but as my companion.

“I remember overhearing an argument between him and the queen. He felt that I was a shell of who I was, and shouldn’t be trapped in something I was unfamiliar with. The queen disagreed and expected obedience.

“It wasn’t long after that I was told a tournament would be held in my honour to choose a protector. I could go anywhere I wanted, so long as I kept that protector at my side.

“Knights, common soldiers, mercenaries, nobles,  _ princes _ … They all came to fight in my honour, each one presented to me in turn. I don’t remember their faces now, and none of them made an impression on me. Except one.” Cinnia looked away from Vaera to Aodhàn, who grinned.

Vaera was struck by how unsettling Aodhàn’s smile was, with too long canines and his eyes that weren’t quite earthly. She was given the distinct impression of a predator. 

“It took me years to find my way,” he said, the predatory smile gone. “I couldn’t leave my sister in some unknown world by herself.”

“You won the tournament.” Vaera blurted the words as soon as she connected the pieces. “You entered and won.” Now it all made sense: their closeness, why he was constantly in her shadow, and Caolán’s gruding acceptance of Aodhàn’s presence.

“Yes,” was his simple reply. He leaned back to settle in for a few hours of sleep. “Now that you know our story, sleeping would be best.”

Vaera laid down, curling up on her side as best she could. There was a persistent feeling that she wasn’t told everything. She believed they were raised together, but the details of their time growing up were vague. Not that she could fault them. There were things about her mortal life that she refused to talk about. She wasn’t sure when her restless mind ceased and she was able to sleep, but the next thing she knew was someone nudging her foot.

They began their climb once more. Vaera suspected they were near the top when the stars seemed that much brighter and closer. She was certain that if she really wanted to, she could touch one of them.

“A few more steps,” came Cinnia’s voice ahead of her.

She looked up then, willing herself to be unafraid. There was a catch in her throat as she gazed at all the stars and the lands surrounding them. Some of the stars were close enough to touch, and if she peered at one closely she saw swirling clouds and land and water peeking out. Others were brilliant globes of light.

Land stretched out before them with the peak they were standing on at the center. From where they stood there were a set of stairs leading to each of the lands, and if she turned just right, there was another set leading further up. How did she not know of this place before?

“Nibiru,” Cinnia breathed, taking in her surroundings. Every world and realms was connected in this one place. It was no wonder that it took them so long to get here. She wondered if there were other, more hidden paths on the stairs they climbed. “Where do we go from here?” she asked her friends.

Aodhàn pointed to a land with one peak. “There.”

As if by magic, stairs began to form. A plaque by the first step appeared.

“What does it say?” Vaera asked.

It was Aodhàn who answered. “Mount Penglai.”

“ _ Another _ mountain?” came Vaera’s exasperated question.

“Immortals live there. They might know where the birthplace of Man is.” Aodhàn crossed his arms. “And it’s an  _ island _ with a mountain.”

“You know a bit about this place,” Cinnia said quietly, searching her brother’s face. Sometimes, she forgot that he was a great deal older than her.

Aodhàn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable. “Mother took me there once when I was young. She was seeking answers and they answered them.”

“What was the price?” Vaera asked, voice hushed.

“I don’t know.”

Vaera looked out at the island with it’s lone mountain. Immortal beings may know where they need to go next instead of blindly choosing a direction and stumbling through a door, all the while hoping for the best. “If they don’t know the way, they might know someone who does,” she mused.

“Then we go to Mountain Penglai.”

~*~

The climb down wasn’t nearly as arduous as the climb up. They all suspected magic, but were grateful for the short trip down. As they ascended the mountain, Vaera was surprised by all the wealth that surrounded her. Jewels grew on trees and the buildings were made of precious metals. 

One of the inhabitants approached her cautiously, saying something to her. She realized with a sinking feeling that she didn’t understand the person. “I don’t-“ she began. 

Another voice spoke behind her, speaking the same language. Vaera turned to find Aodhàn halting speaking, Cinnia not far behind. Aodhàn’s efforts paid off, for the other person smiled, and began speaking. There was a short exchange before Aodhàn turned to them.

“They recognize  _ you _ -“ he pointed at Vaera “-for what you are, and they’re wondering what you’re doing here.”

“I’m… on a quest.” It was almost a question, definitely more of a suggestion. She thought as Aodhàn translated. “I’m trying to find the birthplace of Man, be it land or world.”

There was a pause as Aodhàn listened, then translated. “They say it exists, but it won’t be easy to get there.”

Vaera snorted, but said nothing. They trip so far hadn’t been easy. Not with all the mountains they’ve climbed.

“Do they know where the next door is?” Cinnia asked. Even amongst all the splendor surrounding them, she seemed unimpressed and unmoved.

“They do.” Aodhàn hesitated. “They’re wondering why we’re searching for L’Main.”

“L’Main? Is that the name of the land?” Vaera asked.

“Vaera,” Aodhàn said gently, insistently, “they want to know  _ why _ .”

Vaera bit her lip, then began haltingly, searching for the right words. “I thought all of the lands were connected, and any realm was created by magic or connected by the branches of Yggdrasil. I discovered that there are worlds that look like marbles wandering in a darkness filled with stars, and there are ways to travel to each world. They’re teaching me about the Caeruleus Aether road, and I’d like to see the place- the world- where Man sprang from.” Her gaze drifted, searching out the ocean meets the sky. “Too much has happened. I’m not the same as I was. I won’t go back.”

They eight Immortals regarded her, some thoughtful, others unsure. They began to confere amongst themselves.

Aodhàn turned to the two women and said, “We wait.”

The Immortals seemed to debate for an age before coming to a consensus. One approached Aodhàn, who translated.

“They’ll let you use the door here, but… they caution, no… they warn you to be careful. It’s-“ Aodhàn said or asked something, then nodded “-it’s a giant cedar forest, and there are ancient, powerful gods living there.”

“Like Zeus?”

Aodhàn repeated the question, then fell silent as he processed the answer. “Older. Some are older than dragons. They’re… primordial beings.” He paused, then stopped as Cinnia spoke.

“How old is the forest?”

Aodhàn listened, then said, “Younger than the first water, but older than the dawn.” He turned to the Immortal, saying something in the music like language.

“The forest is dangerous, but the protector was defeated.”  
  
Vaera raised her brows at that.

Aodhàn continued. “Ancient gods and primordial beings. Vaera, are you sure about this?”

Was she? Demons and gods she was familiar with were one thing. Stopping a rebellion meant little in this instance. But it was a world she never saw before, that few knew about. For the first time, she felt the pull that so many of her ancestors did: to see and explore. Nothing risked, nothing gained she remembered someone telling her.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We go.”

~*~

The forest was nothing but cedar trees as far as the eye could see. They were unimaginably tall, and the sweet smell of the trees filled the air. Animals could be seen darting away or keeping a wary, distance from the arrival of the three intruders.

“I think I know where we are.” Cinnia craned her neck back to take everything in. “We’re in the cedar forest. We might be unwelcome here.”

“We knew we were going to-“

“ _ The _ Cedar Forest.”

Wasn’t that what the Immortal told them? Vaera didn’t understand the emphasis Cinnia was putting on the location. “I don’t understand.”

“This forest is one of the oldest places in the Universe. Ancient gods live here. Gods that came before the ones you served,” Cinnia explained. “They may not like us wandering through Their home.”

Vaera stared up at the trees, frowning. If they were so ancient and probably powerful, why cut Themselves off? “Should-should we leave an offering?”

“I think an offering would help,” Aodhàn said slowly.

There was a tenseness in the fae’s voice that gave Vaera pause, Cinnia immediately stilling. A distinct feeling of being watched lay heavy on the three. It was then a hush fell over the forest.

Slowly, Vaera pulled her sack open and began to pull out food. When was the last time she gave an offering to the gods? A moon’s age, at least. She dug out her traveler’s fare and her favourite sweet, a small piece of honey flavoured hard candy. As an afterthought, she offered the last of her mead. She placed the food further into the trees, then stepped back. “We only wish to pass through. We’re trying to find our way to L’Main. Our intent is not to intrude.|

A hush fell over the forest as they waited. The trees seemed to move without actually moving, revealing an archway made out of the cedar trees. 

“I think this is Them asking us to leave,” Vaera whispered.

Cinnia and Aodhàn came up beside her, eyeing the door uneasily. Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, Vaera stepped through the arch.

~*~

It was with a great sense of relief that Vaera found herself in a city, ancient as it was. The few people that saw her cast curious looks her way, but were not alarmed by her presence. Aodhàn and Cinnia were not long behind her.

“Do either of your know where we are?” she asked.

“Lyonesse,” a passerby told them. “Get here by accident?”

“We were diverted,” Cinnia replied smoothly.

The passerby nodded, unsurprised. “That happens. Lyonesse used to be a major trading post. I think some of the old doors weren’t shut down.” They gestured to the grey buildings sprawling around them. “Welcome to the city.”

“Do you think the ancient gods sent us here on purpose?”

Cinnia eyed Vaera out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t interact with gods very often, but I don’t think we would end up here if They were displeased with your offering. They could have sent us anywhere.”

Vaera shuddered, thinking of the vast darkness with stars, falling endlessly. “Let’s give Them thanks and figure out where to go next.” She stepped away to give her friends more room only to be greeted by the sight of a series of doors and archways set up around the perimeter of what looked like a market area. “What  _ is _ this place?”

“Think of it as a port.” Cinnia hefted her bag higher on her shoulder. “One of many for the Caeruleus Aether road. These are common on trade worlds and cities.” She glanced between her two friends. “Resupply, then be on our way? We can always come back,” she said after seeing the hesitation on Vaera’s face. “It’s Lyonesse. There’s  _ always _ a way back.” The elf began to lead the way. “This is one of the ancient kingdoms. The hero Tristan is from here.”

As they wandered from stall to stall to restock, Cinnia spoke of the history of the kingdom, and any person who heard her had their own story to tell. Great and terrible things happened, but the one story that came up over and over again was the sinking of their fair land.

Some swear it was because the people angered the gods. Others say it was a curse. Still some said that a great battle across the sea took place and sent great waves of the sea to their fair shore, drowning the forest that used to border the southern part of the land. Since then, sometimes their kingdom touched or overlapped the land it was once part of, and at other times to different lands.

They made their way to another hub of doorways, Cinnia studying each one in turn. “I think Ys, then Cantre’r Gwaelod will get us close to one of the worlds, close to L’Main.”

Aodhàn nodded slowly, going over the route in his head. “Trade worlds. With luck, we end up either on L’Main or the two worlds closest to it.”  
  
“Ys?” Vaera echoed.

“Land next to Lyonesse before the waters flooded the area. They didn’t quite end up on the same world. I think there’s a library there. It’s like my home and Lyonesse: it touches other worlds and realms.”

“But why Ys?”

“Ys trades in knowledge.”

Vaera frowned, the comment lighting on a distant memory. She remembered stories about a place that collected books, but the place was destroyed.

“We can find-“ Cinnia began, misunderstanding the frown.

“It’s not that. Ys is fine. I think there was a place like that on my home,” Vaera explained. “On my world.”

~*~

Ys was a world of deep forests surrounded by water. The doorway opened up just within a courtyard of what Vaera could only assume was a manse. She was still thinking about the tales of lost kingdoms from her world, but couldn’t recall the names. Was this place and Lyonesse the source of o many sunken kingdoms?

One of the inhabitants gained her attention. They were dressed in what looked like monk robes to her. “Looking for information or passing through?” the person asked. There was something not quite right about them, not quite human.

“Passing through.” Vaera glanced over her shoulder as Cinnia and Aodhàn stepped through the door. “We’re trying to get to L’Main.”

The person nodded, but frowned. “A lot of our doors are undergoing maintenance. I think the door for L’Main is down, but I know the Cantre’r Gwaelod and Caselien doors are still open.”

“Caselien is closer,” Cinnia murmured. “From there we’ll either be able to access Laskanda or L’Main.”

“Or Altalvia,” the monk added helpfully.

“I thought that world was cut off,” Aodhàn said sharply.

The person shrugged. “Most of the doors were closed, but not al of them. The Library of Ys still has  _ one _ door to Altalvia.”

Vaera glanced between the librarian and Aodhàn. There was an unspoken conversation.

“Not  _ all _ of the Altalvians agree with the policies of its government,” the librarian said quietly.

Cinnia made a noise, more thoughtful than disbelieving. “Altalvia for another time. Caselien for now.”

“Of course.” The librarian led them into the castle and through winding passageways until they reached a door. It was carved into the wall of the castle, the ornate border giving clues to what sort of world they would be entering. The phases of a moon were carved along the frame, intertwined with a ribbon. Wolves ran along it, with other creatures not readily recognized.

Vaera tried to puzzle out the letters written across the top before turning to one of her companions. “What does it say?”

“Caselien.” Aodhàn studied the door intently. “This door looks ancient.” He reached out to touch it, then hastily withdrew his hand.

“It’s one of the original doors created.” The librarian gently pushed the door open, offering a glimpse of the world on the other side. The smell of rain and damp earth greeted them. “The door leads to the capital city in Islip.”

~*~

Caselien was unlike anything Vaera had ever seen yet familiar. The cut of the clothing was form fitting and dark coloured. The city was busy, and there seemed to be a perpetual fog that ebbed and flowed as they moved through the streets. The people mostly ignored them, a curious glance cast their way now and again. Signs that Vaera couldn’t read pointed in various directions.

Cinnia and Aodhàn seemed to know where they were going, and Vaera was content to follow. It gave her a chance to look at the people of this world. Everything seemed angular and delicate, from the people to the architecture. It was as if Man imposed its will on the landscape, shaping it the way Man wanted. A few people that she passed set the hairs on the back of her neck standing, but she couldn’t figure out why.

They reached their destination at a building, the design far older than the surrounding city. People milled about, and it seemed the fog wasn’t as thick here. There were others that didn’t bear the dark hair and pale skin of most of the Caseliens, and now it made sense why no one seemed surprised by their presence. There were other travelers.

“Laskanda,” Aodhàn murmured.

“Makes sense.” Cinnia did a quick search of her memory. “It should still be a major trading post, with access to nearly all of the doors.” She pulled out her map and added more notes. 

“We could make it to L’Main from there?” Vaera spoke for the first time in a while.

“We should.” There was slight emphasis on the last word. Cinnia stared at Vaera intently. “We go through this door and your world will change again. You already have a sense of this world.”

Home world of the Dark Ones, she was told. She didn’t understand what that meant. Not completely. She thought it was because the people were dark haired, but the few she passed…

She didn’t want to think about it at the time, but a couple of them gave the impression of long teeth, or a body that didn’t quite fit in the clothes they wore, or eyes that saw too much, assessing everything and missing nothing. She fought down the impulse to each for her sword at the time.

‘Monster’ was the first word that came to mind, but none of them attacked for no reason. Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Cinnia nodded.

“Caselien is an old world, and many stories come form here. Laskanda and L’Main, as well.” Cinnia waited for the information to sink in, watching Vaera as she looked about her with new understanding.

“Any one of these people-“

“Yes.”

Cinnia was fae. She was dangerous and a bit more wild than the others of her kind. She suspected that Aodhàn was  _ not _ fae, but he was just as old, just as dangerous. Most avoided the fae. Dealing with them usually resulted in their death or an unbreakable curse. If the Caseliens were the source of so many monstrous stories, did it really matter? Humans were often worse.

“I’d like to visit this world later,” Vaera said finally.

“You intend to go forward?”

“Yes.”

~*~

Where Caselien was a world encased in fog, Laskanda was quite the opposite. All of the colours were vibrant, the buildings massing and sprawling compared to the cramped, tiny buildings of Caselien. The people were mostly blonde or red haired, and seemed to glide wherever they went. There was so much to look at, with no way to take everything in at once. There were unfamiliar spices and foods she could smell. It reminded her of a trading market she visited as a child.

There was so much to see and do, and all she could to say was, “There are so many blond and red haired people.”

Aodhàn snorted, an almost laugh. “Their legends say they are descended of a firebird.”

“Is that true?”

Aodhàn never answered her question, directing her attention to the various doors and archways. “Like a few of the worlds we passed through, we can go almost anywhere.”

“Which one leads to L’Main?” Vaera asked eagerly.

Caselien’s door represented the world well. The same for Laskanda, with its suns and birds made of flame, and flowers tied to the sun. What would L’Main’s look like? Would it be earth centered? Would it be plain?

“We have to wait, but it should be there.” Aodhàn pointed down a ways to an archway. It looked no bigger or smaller than the others. Much like some of the doorways, the architecture was simple, almost primitive. There were carvings on the arch, but they were too far away to pick out details.

They waited most of the day at Vaera’s request. While the inhabitants unnerved her, it wasn’t so with the Laskandians. Not on the same instinctual level, at least. She was wary of them, even as they people she interacted with did nothing that would set her on edge. It was the same caution she used when interacting with Aodhàn. 

Vaera turned to ask him as much. She got as far as opening her mouth, but there was something his demeanor – maybe it was the way he was standing, almost looming over her; maybe it was the look on his face, closed off but a flash of warning in his eyes; maybe it was the sudden stillness around them – that stopped her.

“Maybe it’s time to leave.” Her voice failed her, the words coming out as a whisper. It wasn’t terror. Not really. As Aodhàn stared at her, she realized she  _ didn’t _ want to know what he was. The Truth would be too terrible to bear.

She didn’t wait on him, turning away and heading back to the main plaza where the other doorways were. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, plastering a smile on her face when Cinnia approached. “Ready whenever you are.”

It was with some relief when they stepped through the ancient archway – decorated with earth symbols and depictions of man – to a new world. There was an anxiousness she couldn’t explain settling in the pit of her stomach as she stepped on new ground. If the stories were true, Man traveled from this world to explore others.

She expected an ancient world, crumbling into ruin with monuments to past glory. She wouldn’t have been surprised by a world full of sand. A still active, busy world, but dying nonetheless.

She was  _ not _ expecting a vast city made of gleaming white stone overlooking an ocean.

“This is Tymy.”

“I thought you said-“

“I didn’t know Tymy was  _ on a world. _ I thought it was in a realm called Ilidour. A realm like the Fae inhabit or the  _ Val sans Retour. _ ” Vaera took a few steps on trembling legs. The last time she was here Ehno used the dormant magics of this ancient site to open a way to the heavens. After everything that happened, did she really want to see more of this place?

__

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning to properly look, she remembered the stories about this place. Ghosts roamed the halls. Some of the stories said that the city was waiting for its ruler to return, restoring it to glory. There was a mad prince betrayed by his general said to bring madness and misfortune on any who saw him. IF you wandered to the Temple of the Moon at night, you were whisked away by the dancing lights to places unknown.

__

She didn’t realize her feet carried her to a circular courtyard. The center had the odd effect that everyone could hear you when you spoke, but you couldn’t hear yourself. Someone jostled into her. She looked to see someone apologize, then mutter under their breath. Where did all these people come from? Were they here this entire time and she not notice?

__

“Vaera?”

__

The Valkyrie jerked around to see Cinnia and Aodhàn. Cinnia’s expression was unreadable, gazing at the other woman with a flicker of emotion that was too quick to understand. Aodhàn frowned at Vaera, knowing something was wrong but not asking questions.

__

“There’s money to be made showing ancient ruins to people,” Cinnia said quietly. She drew Vaera’s attention to the older parts of the city. “The door to this place has never failed. People still come here, even if other doorways are used.”

__

“It was deserted the last time I was here.” Vaera took cautious steps toward the ruins. “I thought… after what happened and the failed war…”

__

“It’s a story now. A legend.” Cinnia linked Vaera’s arm in her own and gently guided her away. “You and he are never named. You became a part of this place and its history, forever tied.”

__

“You knew,” Vaera accused. “That’ why at Ys you said that if I went any further there was no going back. This was a Truth I would face.” She looked at all the people milling about, being guided on tours or exploring the city by themselves. Merchants hawked their wares as children played with the strange sound anomaly in the center. “This place means nothing to them.”

__

“It means  _ something _ to them.” Cinnia pulled Vaera toward the ancient parts of the city. “Worshipers still pray at the Temple of the Moon. Philosophers of nature still try to understand the ancient magics of this place. Scholars work to preserve ancient texts and understand the ancient people that lived here.

__

“But there are a few who are drawn here for reasons they can’t explain.” They paused to watch an elderly woman purposefully draw close to two blue tiled gates. She one of the tiles with trembling fingers as tears began to well up in her eyes. “Reincarnated souls are not rare, but they are  _ uncommon _ . Many are drawn to places like this, as if they  _ know _ without understanding  _ why. _ ”

__

“This is where it happened.” Vaera watched as a few more were drawn to the gates while others hurried past. “But I think this access point is closed on the other side.” A couple people started crying and wondered why they were so overcome by emotion.

__

“Some remember a mad prince that roamed the halls, talking about ancient magics and being trapped, but they don’t remember why he went mad. A few remember a great evil that tried to consume the land but was stopped by a warrior who sacrificed their life to contain it. Others recall an ancient queen that fell in love, but was forever separated from her lover by a jealous sorcerer who bound the queen to the land, doomed to remain even after the end of all things. Some remember the mortal who tried to destroy the heavens but was defeated by a goddess.”

__

Vaera shook her head; in disbelief, in anger it was hard to tell.

__

“You can’t run from this, Vaera.” Cinnia forced the other woman to stay. She gripped her friend’s arm hard enough to bruise. “It  _ happened _ . It’s a part of history.  _ Your _ history. You can’t keep running when something terrible happens.

__

“What happened here was awful, and inspiring, and heartbreaking. That doesn’t mean it defines you. Your actions define you, not what happened to you.”

__

Vaera was silent for many long moments. She  _ did _ run after she killed Ehno. He remembered her at the very end. She ran the time before that, too. Was this her lesson to learn? She thought she was giving herself time to heal, but both times she completely removed herself from everything and everyone. While she was away, she missed how the events she participated in became legend. She also neatly avoided any fallout from her actions.

__

“It was too much to bear,” Vaera whispered.

__

“You have friends and family who care about you,” Cinnia gently reminded her.

__

“And I left them.”

__

“Yes.”

__

Vaera pulled away. “I want to explore the city.” This was the first step. She needed to acknowledge her part in that war against heaven. Maybe some of the souls would recognize her.

__

She approached the blue gates and drew close to the old woman. Unable to bring herself to touch the tiles, she kept her hands at her sides. She was startled when the old woman addressed her.

__

“I know you.”

__

Vaera looked over at her. There was recognition form the other woman, and wonder. “Yes. I was here long ago.”

__

The old woman smiled. “You came back.” She took Vaera’s hands in her own.

__

“It took me a very long time to return,” Vaera choked out.

__

The old woman squeezed Vaera’s hand. “It’s alright. You’re here now.”

__

It was the closest Vaera ever felt to being forgiven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find pronuncations for everything, but here is what I have:  
> Cinnia - SIHNNiyAH  
> Aodhàn - ayTHAWN 
> 
> Brocéliande - bro SAY lee ahnd  
> Hyperborea - hahy-per-bawr-ee-uh, -bohr-, -buh-ree-  
> Nysa - nahy-suh  
> Nibiru - nigh BEER ooh  
> Lyonesse - ˌlaɪəˈnes (lioness)  
> Ys - ees


	3. Plural Singularities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it the first loop? The hundredth? What happened to the others caught that wound up caught in the time loop? 
> 
> Companion piece to "The Ghosts of Black Holes"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is being posted so late. My work schedule changed D:

It was a gleaming city, with a perfect view of the ocean as it sat atop a plateau. The immense blue gate caught the eye, the colour and painted flowers disguising its true purpose: a reinforced, defensible gate to protect the inner city and the palace beyond. It was meant to inspire awe.

__

Rhys was determined not to be intimidated. He was a visiting ruler of his own realm, after all. He was here for the usual reasons: trade, negotiations on a number of items, establishing new friendships, and reaffirming current ones. He couldn’t say there was any one person he was looking forward to seeing again, but he hoped not to run into some of the more persistent representatives attending a few of the summits.

__

He can’t say he  _ hated _ Tymy. He did meet his wife here. But his visits weren’t always pleasant. There were at least two wars he was part of, even if he did find an ambassador in the process. He had no doubt that both good and bad things would happen. They always came in pairs. His wife always told him that it was her luck rubbing off on him when something good landed in their lap. Like Osin.

__

After years of trying, they had a little boy. An heir to both kingdoms. Ideally, they would have two children-

__

“You’re brooding again.”  
  
Rhys looked up, catching sight of the Seren ambassador. “Am I?”

“You were frowning,” the other man pointed out.

“I  _ always _ frown,” Rhys returned.

“You’re family is waiting for you. That  _ should _ cheer you up.”

Rhys mumbled something under his breath.

The ambassador leaned toward the king. “What was that?”

“Nothing, Lys,” Rhys replied. “This place always unsettles me.”

Lysacon frowned, looking down at the ground as their mounts plodded on. “It seems worse today. Everyone is uneasy the morn. Even the animals.”

“What possessed the Aevum to build over a nexus point?” Rhy wondered aloud. “Not even Cantre’r Gwaelod is built over this, and they’re a major trading post.”

Lysacon shrugged. “They say they have the tech to control it.”

Rhys snorted. “Those machines are ancient and no one understands the spells used to harness all of that power anymore. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“You know,  _ our _ machines-“

“Are of Altalvian make and engineered by the Laskandians,” Rhys cut in smoothly. “They’re perfectly fine.”

“And run on Fae magic,” Lysacon added.

“Which is far more stable than building an entire fucking city on top of a nexus point.” He let out a breath, changing topics. “Will Damir be there?”

“He should be.” Lysacon rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension in his upper back. “You don’t believe the rumours, do you?”

“That he’s Fae? Or has Fae blood?”

Lysacon nodded.

“I-“ Rhys needed to think. Lysacon was the one who brought him the rumour. The Seren’s espinoge and intelligence work during the last war and subsequent diplomacy work on the aftermath made him indispensible. Lysacon always saw himself as a solider first, but used diplomacy where he could. Rhys thought he was the best candidate to be ambassador. It was these skills that brought Rhys and his wife valuable information. He also brought rumours to their attention. Like the heir apparent of the Aestosi Empire being of Fae blood.

Damir was smart and groomed for the position, the empress choosing him among all her children to succeed her. He was capable and served in the military. The army loved him, as he led them on multiple missions. But rumours started of his strangely good luck, how he narrowly missed being skewered by a blade on a spell shot; how he was at the right place and time to get the last city-state on a much desired trade route to agree to negotiations… There were a million little examples, an all of them were either small things or greatly exaggerated.

The Fae, for their part, denied all kinship with Damir. The prince exhibited no aptitude for magic, but had a keen mind for science.

“I think a lot of it is just that: rumours,” Rhys said finally. “Kiera has a close relationship with the Fae in her kingdom, and she thinks that if anything, he gained the favour of a Fae.”

Lysacon nodded. “Their ambassador said the same.”

Rhys looked over in surprise. “They’re here?”

“They think something important is going to happen and insisted on accompanying Kiera.” Lysacon let the importance of the decision from the Fae hang in the air. They were well known for avoiding dealings with Man, unless it served their interests.

“They know something,” Rhys said immediately.

“Maybe.”

~*~

She couldn’t sleep. Dreams again. She could say they were nightmares. There was nothing solid in them. Only feelings of unease. She slid out of the bed to not wake her husband and check on their son. He was sound asleep. Pulling on a robe, she left the inner chamber and sat down in one of the chairs before the fireplace in their apartments.

Eternal Tymy. Her dreams are always strange in this place. Maybe Rhys was right and it was because of the nexus point. She always blamed it on anything  _ but _ the nexus. But the Fae insisting someone go with her to Tymy unsettled her. Didn’t they just lose a princess? Shouldn’t they be looking for her?

As if summoned, the Fae ambassador appeared at her elbow. “Kiera,” it said by way of greeting. IT took on a vaguely humanoid appearance, ethereal and alien.

“He or she?” the queen asked.

The Fae gave the question some thought. “Neither.”

“Is ‘they’ acceptable?”

“Yes,” came the reply.

“What brings you here?” she asked.

“You weren’t sleeping,” they said. “I came to be sure all was right.”

Kiera gestured for them to sit. “Uneasy dreams,” she explained. “This place…” She tried to find the words and failed.

“Eternal Tymy,” they echoed. “It exists in many places at once, at different times, but it is always anchored here. We don’t know hwy. It’s like Kaer, but not.”

Kiera understood the Fae better than most, but even this didn’t make sense to her. “Because of the nexus?” she guessed.

“Yes. No.”

How can the answer be yes  _ and _ no? The nexus was causing problems or it wasn’t. But the Fae never lied. “Is something going to happen?”

“Yes, but we don’t know what. It will echo across Space and Time, influencing things to come.” The Fae stared at her, and then through her. “There will be one last battle.”

They sent an oracle with her? Why? “Here? In Tymy?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Here, in our present. Later, in the future. Elsewhere, on the edge of forever in the spacetime of an event horizon.”  


“In a singularity?” The Fae were liminal, weren’t they? Science and magic. In their own world –some _ when _ , she was always told – and the world of Man.

“There are  _ many _ singularities,” they said. Their gaze focused on Kiera, and the queen stilled. “Nearly everyone is here. We will protect you and yours as much as we can.”

~*~

The Aevum took the presence of the Fae as a good sign. Space was made for them at all of the summits the ambassador wished to join. Besides, no one was brave enough to tell them no.

After the second summit meeting, Rhys met his wife for lunch. They didn’t have much time before the next meeting, so he blurted out his question.

“Are you pregnant?”

“What?” Kiera frowned at her husband. “No. What makes you think I am?”

“You look a little… unwell. You’re either sick or pregnant.”

“Osin it  _ two _ ,” she began, eyes narrowed. “We agreed-“

Rhys held up his hands in a placating manner. “We did. We  _ are _ . You look a bit pale.”

Kiera sighed, thinking of last night. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Osin?”

She shook her head. “No, he was fine. He slept most of the night. I was dreaming.”

Rhys frowned. “This place,” he muttered darkly.

Kiera reached across the table and held his hand. “A few more days and we can go home,” she reminded him. 

“But what will this place  _ do _ to you in the meantime?” He clutched her hand. “You’re connected in a way we don’t understand. I’d rather you not be here until we understand  _ why _ it effects you so.”

“I know,” she said. “I  _ do _ ,” she insisted when eh gave her a disbelieving look. “I think that’s why the Fae are here.”

“Because of your dreams?”

“The Fae ambassador is an oracle. They said that something is going to happen, but they don’t know what,” she explained. She told him everything that happened the night before.

Rhys leaned back in his chair. “And they didn’t say if it was good or bad?”

Kiera shook her head. “My dreams are the same: undefined and vague sense of unease, but nothing  _ negative _ .”

“But if the Fae are here…” Rhys trailed off. They both knew it meant something big. Bigger than them, bigger than kingdoms and worlds squabbling over trades, borders, and threats of war. “Dragons?” he asked suddenly.

Kiera hmm’d. “I haven’t  _ seen _ any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here.”

“If the Fae are here, we’ll assume someone from the Dragons is here, as well. If the Fae think something is going to happen, the Dragons likely think so, too.”

They paused as an announcement was made, calling all attendees to return to the conference room shortly. 

Kiera sighed, rising from her seat. “Damir seemed a bit unsettled, too.”

“Do you believe the rumours?” he asked as he stood up.

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “His connection to this land is far deeper than mine. I think he sense something is one the way.”  
  
“Might explained the bodyguard,” Rhys mumbled.

“We should go.” Kiera rose from her seat. “We’ll be late.”

~*~

“You and I are distant cousins.”

Kiera was surprised by the heir apparent’s sudden arrival. She regained her composure as they walked down the maze like corridors. “Yes, several times removed.”

“Then you have a… tether to Tymy?”

His question nagged at her, but she answered. “A tenuous one, yes.”

He nodded, his bodyguard silently following behind them. 

“Cousin, are you dreaming?” she asked quietly.

Damir hesitated, then nodded. “I can’t help-“ He stopped as soon as Kiera motioned him to silence. 

“It’s been a very long time since we spoke and caught up. Why don’t you come join my husband and I for dinner?”

Damir caught the warning look and silent plea she cast him. “I would enjoy that.” He searched her face for anything else. “I could see my baby cousin.”

She smiled. “We’ll see you at dinner, then.”

Kiera was quick to make arrangements for a private dinner. It wouldn’t be that strange, cousins having a quiet dinner away from all of the visiting royals for a night. The big state dinner wouldn’t be until the end of the summit.

When Damir arrived and he and his bodyguard were shut inside the private dinning room, he didn’t waste time. “You know something.” 

Kiera’s eyes flickered over to the woman standing behind him. 

“This is Captain Miranu Davke. What we say here won’t be repeated,” he assured them.

Kiera watched the two share a glance. There was a wealth of information in that one look alone. There was history between them, and a great deal of trust.

“Please sit.” Kiera gestured for the both of them to take seats as another plate and chair were brought out. Food was laid out on the table and the staff was dismissed. They waited a few moments more to be sure everyone was gone.

“You know something,” Damir repeated. “Why is a Fae ambassador here?”

Kiera placed a napkin in her lap. “The same reason why you and I are dreaming: something is going to happen. Something big, but they don’t know what.” She glanced up at Damir as she served herself and passed the dish to him. “My dreams are uneasy and indistinct.”

“Mine are the same,” Damir admitted, frowning. “If the Fae are here then a representative from the Dragons should be, too.”

“We haven’t seen one,” Rhys said. He chewed on his food thoughtfully. “But that doesn’t mean one isn’t here.”

“The oracle  _ did _ say that not everyone was here,” Kiera added.

“Oracle?” Damir leaned forward. “You consulted one?”

“More like they felt it important enough to tell me themselves.”

Damir sat back. “What could be so important? The summit meeting isn’t anything out of the ordinary.”

“And it doesn’t mean that anything  _ horrible _ will happen,” Kiera reminded them.

“I don’t know,” Miranu began hesitantly, looking at each of them in turn, “if it’s connected, but the science academy made some…startling discoveries about the nexus point here.” Everyone was listening to her now. She forged ahead. “They compared readings here to other nexus points. There’s been a surge in activity at all points. It’s like they’re resonating with one another.”

“Lady Kiera.”

The Fae materialzied near the table, saw the two guests, and paused. “Everyone is here,” they said.

“What do you mean?”

“You should prepare, Lady Kiera. It looms closer than we thought.”

“What does?” Damir demanded.

“We can’t prepare if we don’t know what’s coming,” Kiera said in an attempt to elicit more information. “Please. Damir is having the dreams, too.”

The Fae turned to the prince, considering him. “You should look after your friend. He’s dreaming, too. His line is in danger if you don’t. What comes, comes for him and his.”

“What is it?”

THe oracle turned to Rhys. “It’s lost. It doesn’t realize that what it does will cause ripples. It’s trying to fix things the only way it knows how. It needs a host. It’s using the nexus points to find one. It’s looking for it’s children.”

Damir froze. “How would we know it’s children?”

“They are always named for their relationship with light.”

“Lysacon,” Rhys whispered.

“Oracle, why are you warning us?” Damir presssed.

“To save you.” The Fae looked elsewhere, head tilted as if listening to something. “I must go.”

“Wait!” Rhys cried out, leaping to his feet. He toppled his chair over and nearly upset the table. But it was too late. The oracle was gone.

Damir rose from his seat, Miranu doing the same. “We need to find your friend,” the prince said. “Go home. I’ll make excuses for the both of you.”

“No, I’ll stay to help,” Rhys said. “If this... creature is using the nexus, then Tymy may be in danger. My  _ friend _ is in danger.” 

“When we find our friend, we can send him away from Tymy. Rhys’ kingdom is far from any nexus point,” Kiera said.

Damir began to waver.

“Three people looking for Lysacon is better than two,” Rhys pointed out. “And I know him best.”

“Fine. But you, cousin-” Damir pointed at Kiera.

“As soon as we find Lysacon, we’ll leave,” the queen told him. “I’m still tied to this land. I can’t leave it when it’s in danger. And Lysacon saved Rhys. We can’t leave him.”

“Your son-” Damir began.

“Will be sent home with most of my retinue,” Kiera assured them.

“You’re being reckless. Osin needs  _ one _ of us!” Rhys fumed.

“And he  _ will _ .  _ After _ we find Lysacon,” Kiera countered. She took his hand in hers. “We have faced all things together.”

“Osin-“

“We won’t leave him,” she promised. 

“We’re running out of time,” Miranu said quietly.

“I’ll send everyone home  _ first _ ,” she told him. “I’ll catch up if you haven’t found him yet.” A compromise she hoped her husband would take.

Rhys gave a resigned sigh and kissed her. “I’ll see you on the other side,” he promised.

~*~

They split to cover more ground. Miranu went to Lysacon’s assigned quarters while Damir and Rhys checked the reception hall and surrounding rooms. It was Damir who found him in the reception hall mingling with other heads of state and ambassadors.

The ambassadors bowed as the prince approached, Lysacon among them. He turned to the Seren ambassador with a smile. “Just the man I was looking for. I was hoping you could help me talk some sense into your king.”

Lysacon snorted. “ _ That _ would be a feat,” he said. “Once he sets his mind to something-“

“I know: it’s almost impossible,” Damir finished. He gestured for the other man to follow him. “I think I saw King Rhys in one of the adjoining rooms.”

“Was it a policy that you wanted to discuss?” Lysacon could think of several, and he tried to recall the ones already discussed. He smiled pleasantly, but something was making him uneasy.

“There  _ were _ quite a few,” Damir said absently, his attention focused elsewhere. He caught a glimpse of the king darting into another room. “Rhys” he hissed.

The king heard his name, halting in his path and turning around. Catching sight of Lysacon and Damir, relief washed over him. He addressed the ambassador directly. “We have to go.”

Lysacon’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. “What?” He turned to Damir. “Your Serene Highness, I apologize if my king has offended you, but surely dismissal-“

“You’re in danger,” the prince said bluntly. “You, your family, and the king and queen.”

“W-What?” Lysacon stammered.

Rhys grabbed his firend by the elbow and steered him toward the private chambers. “A plot was uncovered,” he lied. How could he explain everything and it not sound like the ravings of a mad man? “Where’s your family?”

“At home,” Lysacon replied. He stared at the two men as they hurried down hallways. Damir frowned heavily and there was a determined set to Rhy’s jaw. “You both are serious.”

“We need to pack your things and leave,” Rhys told him.

“The queen-“Lysacon began, alarmed.

“Already packing and hopefully gone by now.”

But something wasn’t right. The air seemed to shift. With no explanation other than that something was wrong, they broke into a run.

They were prepared for anything as they ran through the palace. A dragon, a fae that felt they were wronged, a furious mage, soldiers, assassins... Anything but what was waiting for them in one of the corridors. Rhys would never be able to accurately describe what he saw. It always changed shape in his memory. All Damir could remember was light and energy. Kiera would recall vast power that was decidedly otherworldly. Miranu remembered a being of pure energy. Only Lysacon saw the creature for what it truly was, and refused to ever talk about what exactly he saw. The only thing any of them could agree upon was the voice. Vast and resounding, hearing it not only with their ears but in their minds as well.

Miranu and Kiera stood side by side as they made every attempt to buy time, but every sword cut and every spell was useless. The creature didn’t attack. It simply remained where it was, waiting.

“You are weak in your current form,” it said once both women exhausted themselves. “Why are you here, Star Goddess? Did the Far Sailing One bring you here?” It turned, noticing the three men. “The Forest King and the Mad Prince. But you-” It addressed Lysacon directly ”- _ you _ are why I am here.”

It reached for Lysacon as Rhys shoved him out of the way. The creature ignored the sword when Rhys drew his, but hissed in pain when the blade touched. “God Killer!”

“Lyle run!” Rhys shouted.

Lysacon scrambled away, Damir covering his escape. 

“You cannot stop what is meant to be,” the being warned. “He is of my blood.” The creature seemed to surge, the stones and walls barely able to contain the immense power it was summoning. It felt something hit it from behind and howled in pain.

Miranu drove a blade into the creature, he sword now humming with a faint light. Rhys wasted no time to swing his own blade, cutting deep.

“You choose to be in my way, Fallen Ones?!” It cried out. 

What was it talking about? They just needed to get Lysacon to safety. “Kiera!” Rhys cried out. Maybe she could keep it in place long enough for him and the major to incapacitate or kill it. They could all go home.

“I’m trying!” The queen ground herself in the swirling energies. For a brief instant she touched the magic sleeping beneath Tymy and brushed against the maelstrom that was the nexus. She saw herself as the creature Named her, with stars in her eyes. The being was the same, but made of a light that wasn’t quite right. She looked at the others for as long as she dared. Miranu and Damir had great wings with ribbons attaching them to Tymy. Rhys was crowned with oak and ivy. Lysacon shone with the same strange light as the creature, but dimmed.

Kiera reached for the being, and as soon as she touched it she was bombarded by a riot of images. A woman with red hair stood with a woman with a fathomless gaze. An immense dragon floating in a never ending darkness turned into a river, and then a vast ocean. A woman wore a cloak of midnight. There was a woman made of stars and a man made of leaves. There was a woman made of moonlight who danced with a man who burned as brightly as the sun. At the center was the being. 

She was just on the verge of understand something, of understanding how she fit in the grand scheme of the Universe. She was far more powerful than her mortal form. There was an entire universe to tap into. She could change things right now. She was the mortal incarnation of the Star Goddess, after all.

She reached for the being, intending to contain it before it noticed her. But it was too late.

“No! I need him!” It cried. “It’s the only way to make this right!”

She didn’t understand. Couldn’t. She saw things as they are, and didn’t know why it was wrong. Everything is exactly as it should be.

Her response enraged the creature. “You do not understand! This is not the way things are to be! Ahkana upset the balance of things!” The creature, this being that was greater than herself and yet less so, bent the heavens to Its will.

If the creature was so powerful, why did it need Lysacon?

“Only mortals can change the nature of things. You and the other Fallen Ones taught me that.”

But Lysacon was her friend. She would not allow him to be taken. Not even to seemingly fix what might be wrong. Things were as they should be, as they always were.

She expected rage from the being, found determination instead. It pulled in all the energies around it, coalescing into a single point. Too late she realized what the creature was doing. It was going to trap them to get what it wanted. She had to warn the others.

Kiera looked at the others. They looked frozen in place, and she knew the being was already moving them. She brought herself to the same spacetime as everyone else.

“I’m sorry!” she sobbed.

Rhys was immediately at her side. “What happened? What’s going on? You and the creature where here-“

“It’s bringing us to the edge of spacetime. It plans to trap us to get to Lysacon.” Kiera wasn’t making sense, but she kept talking. “It’s my fault. We wouldn’t be trapped if it weren’t for me.”

Damir frowned. “The edge of spacetime? A singularity? A black hole?”  


“We’ll be right at the event horizon.”

“Time dilation,” the prince whispered. 

“We could be here forever,” Miranu said grimly.

“But why does it want me?” Lysacon asked in a terrified whisper. 

“It’s going to create a loop and trap us on the event horizon. It will keep repeating everything until it gains Lysacon’s body. But the loop won’t break until it has Lysacon. That means we have conditions, too. This kind of magic goes both ways. It keeps saying that things are wrong. I think it needs Lysacons to-“

She froze. The being wasn’t done yet. She need to act fast. Pulling an amulet from around her neck, she scrambled over to Lysacon and put it on him. In the next instant she and Rhys were gone, pulled into the same spacetime as the creature.

“You two can change everything,” it told them. “I will not let you interfere. I curse you.”

“No!” Kiera screamed. Her brush against the being and access to the nexus allowed her to see what it planned. She knew what was to come.

“I bind you both to your kingdoms. So long as they stand, you will remain and live. Never able to to leave.”

The enormity of the curse hit Rhys. They could live the rest of their lives and never see each other again. He reached for Kiera, but missed. He wanted to tell her that he’d find a way. That nothing would keep them apart. The last image he saw of his wife was of her reaching for him as they were cast back to earth.

~*~

As soon as Rhys and Kiera seemingly winked out of existence, Miranu hauled Lysacon to his feet. His hiss of pain drew her attention. He was bleeding from his side. “Shit,” she breathed. “When were you hurt?”

“When it was flailing.” Lysacon breathed deep, pushing the pain out of his mind. He pressed a hand to the wound to stem the flow of blood.

Miranu looked at the wound, face grim. There wasn’t time. There might never  _ be _ time. “We need to go.”

“Go  _ where _ ?” Damir asked sharply. “This thing-“

“I know!” Miranu snapped. “Now help me carry him.”

Damir threw Lysacon’s other arm over his shoulder and all three of them staggered out of the room. “We can send a message out,” he said quietly.

“How? We’re being pulled toward a singularity.” She adjusted Lysacon to be more comfortable as they slowly made their way down the hall. Chaos reigned as the creature’s hold on the area began to slip. People were now aware that something happened, that part of the palace was destroyed. They heard fighting, but didn’t know from where. All they knew to do was flee and hide. How much time did Rhys and Kiera buy them?

“If we send it now, it will reach us eventually. Nothing can escape a black hole. The transmission will be pulled in with us,” Damir explained.

“we can explain to ourselves what’s happening.” Lysacon laboured fro breath as he spoke. “When the transmission reaches us, we may not know what’s going on. But this-” He wheezed, struggling against the pain.

Miranu paused and made a decision. “There a terminal in the old part of the palace. It’s ancient,” she warned.

Damir looked at her, then Lysacon. The Seren was beginning to fade, and rapidly. “We should hurry. I doubt the creature will allow Lyle to die.”

Between the two of them, they were able to carry Lysacon to a little used part of the palace. They ignored or deflected anyone that tried to stop them, know that at any moment time will reset for them. The message was more important.

They pulled Lysacon into the disused terminal room and set him as gently as they could in one of the chairs. Damir began to fire up the computers as Miranu barricaded the door.

“Maker, you were  _ not _ kidding,” Damir muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard. 

Miranu came up behind him, peering over his shoulder. “Can yous end a message?” she pressed.

The prince waited for the terminal screen to flash at the ready window. “Yes,” he said finally. “We can record a mesage and send it out.” He typed in a few more commands and a camera placed above the terminal turned on, the light a steady green. 

“Are you sure it will work?”

He paused. A vague felling of deja vu washed over him. Shaking the feeling off, he considered the question. Did he lie to her, reassure her that it would work? “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Miranu sighed. “We have to try. Can you send it into the aether and it will come back?” She wanted to walk away. There was no guarantee of success. What did it matter?

“I’m sending it to a space station,” he suddenly decided. There were notes left behind, scattered around the dusty terminal. Some poor technician, unable to remember a damn thing, probably left them. He opened another terminal window, typing in commands too fast for Miranu to follow. “It should still be operational. Once I confirm that, we can record and send our message. Tell the station to send it back here.”

“Why send it there?”

The prince verified the coordinates on the screen, comparing them to the notes left behind. Satisfied, he pinged the station. “Because it may be far enough away to not be caught in this mess immediately. By the time the message returns...”

It wasn’t a guarantee. For all he knew, the recording might get eaten up by the forces creating the time loop or by the singularity itself. Or it might make it through. Then again, it could be caught in the endless loop with them, always being sent out but never coming back in time for them to end it.

“We might be able to solve this,” she finished.

The prince hesitated the barest moment.”That is the hope.” By some miracle, the derelict station pinged back. He switched screens, focusing the camera on them. He turned to her. “Ready?”

She sighed. “This better work.”

He hoped it did, too.


	4. The Temporal Dimension of Liminality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liminal  
> lim·i·nal  
> /ˈlimənl/  
> adjective technical  
> adjective: liminal
> 
> 1.relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process.  
>  2\. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.
> 
> A temporal dimension is one way to measure physical change. It is perceived differently from the three spatial dimensions in that there is only one of it, and that we cannot move freely in time but subjectively move in one direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life is chaos. Work almost killed me
> 
> Probably not my best in this series, but I really like the concept

A man pushed his way through the crowd. Vaeramae noted him, then dismissed him. She didn’t recognize him and she read no ill intent from him, only confusion. She was surprised then, when someone grabbed her arm.

“Vaera?”

It was a whisper of disbelief, just as she turned to free herself form the man’s grasp. She hesitated, not quite lowering her guard.

“Do I know you?” Try as she might, she couldn’t recall the man’s face. Was this another reincarnated soul?

“Once, long ago,” he said. “I was a boy. My family was on pilgrimage to a holy site, where one of the Seven Fallen Gods fell to earth. There were red rocks and a lake-“

”-and the Backbone of Night was in the sky,” Vaera finished. The memory of the tattoo beneath his left eye swam to the surface. Dark hair and olive skin, with dark eyes far too old set in a face that looked to be in the prime of life. “You can’t be the boy I saved. Are you?”

Ctephon and Alaric appeared at her side, noting her absence. “Aunt Vaera?” Alaric took in the milling crowd, and saw the woman from the library approach with others trailing behind her.

“Apologies, m’lady-” the woman started.

Vaera ignored her, palcing a calming hand on Ctephon’s arm. “I think saved this man when he was a boy,” she explained. “I never knew what happened to you.” How many years was it? How many centuries? Shouldn’t he be dead? “How are you here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” the man laughed. 

“I never learned your name,” Vaera prompted.

He took a step back and bowed. “Lucien Roan, Knight of S’ran, 17th Unit, on loan from the Prince of S’ran to the Baron of Chalcedony.” He gestured to the young woman and older gentleman behind him.

The gentleman stepped forward, bowing. “Sir Alexander von Blair, Baron of Chalcedony, from the world Caselien.” He introduced the young woman beside him. “My daughter Nova.”

For a moment, hearing the name of the world and the prince she once visited brought flashes of memory back to her. A mausoleum, the immortal Prince of S’ran and their ambiguous nature, and the woman she met. A gentle touch at her elbow brought her back, and she smiled. The one she learned to give to reassure everyone that all was right in the world. 

“A pleasure to meet all of you. I am Vaera, Duchess of Adrana, Kingdom of Ilidour, from the world of L’Main.” She gestured to Alaric. “Allow me to introduce Alaric, Prince and Heir Apparent of the Kingdom of Ilidour.” Alaric made a sweeping bow, and Vaera resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Ctephon bowed afterward. “My husband Ctephon, Prince of Ilidour, Duke of Adrana.” She turned back to Lucien. “I have so many questions-“

Lucien laughed. “As I have questions for you.” He glanced around them. Combined, they were a rather large group blocking the hallway. People were squeezing their way past and shooting them irritated looks. “Have lunch with us,” he said. “Or dinner. There’s so much to tell you.”

“Dario?” Ctephon asked.

A slender man with a regal bearing and the most astounding mustache stepped forward. “Your graces are available for dinner,” he said as he flipped through papers.

An attendant standing next to the baron piped up, frowning as she said, “Dinner should be fine, but we’ll need to move your late afternoon appointment.”

The baron, not wanting to inconvenience the visiting royals, agreed to the change of schedule. “Allow us to host you,” he said. “I own an estate on this world, and it’s not far from the palace. I’ll send a carriage.”

Vaera was about to speak, then decided to defer to Alaric. She stepped back to give the prince space.

“That is most gracious of you, your excellency.” Alaric smiled in what he hoped was a friendly way. “A carriage would be most appreciated, as we’re still learning our way around the city.”

“When the evening bells chime, the carriage will be waiting.”

“Thank you.”The prince frowned as someone stepped between them. “We’ll see you tonight.”

The two groups gave their farewells, but Lucien heard Vaera’s husband ask her, “How old are you again?”

“Don’t start with me,” she threatened as they moved away.

“Aunt Vaera?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this the first time you met someone from... before?”

“A mortal? Yes. Although, most people I know died a long time ago,” she mused. “I wonder how he’s still alive.”

“Are you a Laskandian?” Alaric glanced at her. It would explain her longevity, but his uncle and father said that she used to be a death maiden. A pseudo goddess, ancient and powerful. 

“No, I’m from a world called Gaia,” she told him, “but I was a Valkyrja.” 

There was something in her voice that made Alaric look at her again. Longing and sadness, but warmth as well. She smiled at Ctephon as he brushed his hand against hers.

Alaric stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “Is that a death maiden?” There was a wealth of history behind the foreign word, and he wanted to know more.

“It’s a rough translation in your language. In mine, it means ‘chooser of the slain.’”

“A battle goddess?”

Vaera grinned, and there was something almost feral about it. “A warrior’s angel.”

Now he knew why his uncle kept throwing himself into battle. Alaric heard the story of how they met, but never understood. Ctephon wanted to see her again, and the only way to do that was through battle. He suppressed a shudder. He would never understand them and their thrill for battle. “Is that how you know this Lucien? When you were a valkv- val- a death maiden?”

“Yes. He was a boy at the time, but that was...” She trailed off, thinking.

“It was what?” Alaric prompted.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Maybe he was granted immortality, or ate something,” Ctephon suggested. 

“A pact he made?” Alaric chimed in. 

“It could be anything.” Vaera smiled at the two of them. “Maybe he’ll tell us during dinner.”

~*~

Alaric wasn’t sure what to make of his aunt. She was dressed in clothes he’d never seen before. They were simple, hand made clothes with embroidery. A long cream coloured shift with a shorter blue woolen dress suspended by two straps over it. Brooches were at the end of each strap, strings of colourful glass beads and an embroidered white linen panel hanging between the them. She wore an ornate blue coat over it all, trimmed in fur. Her hair was in braids, gold beads scattered in her mane. The bottom of her dress was lined in flat pieces of metal and a rippling, delicate sound followed her every move.

Ctephon kissed his wife soundly. “All you’re missing is your armour,” he murmured.

“Armour?” the prince asked. Armour went with this outfit?

“Yes, armour. I thought this would be fitting for tonight.”

The evening bells chimed and they hurried out of the palace to greet the carriage. The ride to the von Blair estate took them through the more scenic parts of the metropolis before reaching the bordering estates.

The lands were much like everywhere else on Laskanda: barren, with little vegetation and not a hide of fauna to be seen. Houses of those working the land dotted the area.

“The living conditions-” Alaric began.

“That’s why we’re here,” Ctephon reminded him. “That’s why Laskanda asked for aid.”

The manor wasn’t in any better shape. While it wasn’t falling apart, it was in a state of disuse. A footman opened the carriage door as soon as they pulled up to the front door. “Our apologies for the state of things. We’re currently assessing any damage done in their excellencies absence.” He signaled for the driver to move on once everyone exited the carriage, then turned to his guests. “We are short staffed currently. We apologize for any delay in service.”

Dinner was a formal affair, with seating based on rank and all proper etiquette observed. The conversation was polite if somewhat stilted. When they retired to the drawing room did the question that Nova was desperate to ask burst from her.

“How did you meet? You said you rescued him.”

“He was a boy-” Vaera began. 

“My family was on pilgrimage-” Lucien started.

“You start,” Vaera told him. “I’ll pick up when you meet me.”  
~*~

It was a sacred place. Legends said one of the Seven Fallen Gods fell to earth at this very spot, creating the lake and the remarkable red stones surrounding it. No much further from the lake there was a tidal island in the sea.

His parents kept him close by as they followed a few others. The giant red rocks could be seen in the distance. It wouldn’t be much longer, he was told. Just a bit further.

He didn’t really understand why they were going to the lake surrounded by red rocks. He knew it was a holy place, and they were going to pay their respects and hopefully be blessed. Whatever that meant. All he wanted to do was go home and hang out with his friends. But he wasn’t an adult yet, which was the whole reason why he was on this pilgrimage. He knew it was important to his parents, so he made all the preparations, studied the holy passages, and memorized everything he was supposed to say. The ceremony was to take place on the tidal island after bathing in the holy waters of the lake and spending a night of meditation (he was sure he was going to fall asleep) amongst the red rocks.

They didn’t arrive until dusk, and by then all anyone wanted to do was make camp, eat, and go to bed. He was exhausted enough to fall asleep without trouble. His dreams were strange. There was an immense dragon floating in a never ending darkness, and it turned into a river, and then a vast ocean. There was a figure made entirely of stars trapped within the earth. There was a man made of leaves, but he kept turning into different animals. A woman made of moonlight danced with a fire elemental. A woman with red hair stared at the heavens until she became the heavens and the darkness above stood next to a woman wrapped in the night sky, who soothed his feverish, strange dreams by wrapping him in her cloak.

He woke in a daze, telling his mother about the dream. “Isn’t it strange?” he asked.

“They call to you,” his mother assured him. “This dream means They are still out there.”

“Who is?”

She never answered his question, or he didn’t remember it.

He bathed in the lake, with it’s reflection of the looming red rocks. It was eerily quiet, even the sounds of the others bathers were muted. No one said a word, many of them looking up at the rock formations that they would be spending the night in.

All of them entered the cluster of rocks through a main entrance, the only place wide enough to allow them in. He didn’t know what to compare it, or what to expect, this sacred grove made of towering rocks. There was a strange pressure on his chest that he couldn’t explain or shake. He found a quiet spot away from the others.

It was almost enclosed, and somewhere near the middle of everything. Any sound he made was deadened instead of echoed. The phenomena surprised him so much that he spent more time trying to find a spot that did echo (he couldn’t find one) that he didn’t meditate immediately. He grew tired of it eventually and settled down.

Try as he might, he couldn’t quiet his mind. The dream kept replaying in his mind over and over again. Was it a message, or his anxious mind dwelling on things. His mind wandered down the path of the dream. Maybe it was a good omen, like his mother said.

He fell asleep at some point. He woke suddenly without any immediate reason why. Every one of his senses was on edge. Something woke him, but he couldn’t hear anything, and as far as he could tell there was nothing in his immediate area. He crept out of the enclosure and saw that night had descended long ago. The stars were brighter than he remembered them being, and the air chilled. He wrapped his arms about himself to stay warm as he crept further into the rock garden to investigate.

Unease settled in the pit of stomach. Just like the little area he found, all noise was muted. Sound couldn’t be trusted. He’d have to rely on his eyes. He moved silently through the rocks and over the silt, coming ever closer to the center. It was here he began to see things out of the corner of his eye.

He was tired, he told himself. His eyes were playing tricks on him. But as he got closer, the things that flitted by became more solid. They coalesced into a being of energy. Was this what woke him? If so, why weren’t the others here? He felt compelled to draw closer. Maybe this was one of the fallen gods. Maybe this is what his mother meant about Them calling to him. He took a step, and before he could take another, something yanked him back.

He stared up at someone in armour saying something he didn’t understand. Everything sounded like gibberish to him, until she thrust him behind her and the iridescent light spoke.

“He is chosen.”

“He’s not yours to take!” she snapped back in the same language.

“He is of my blood.” The disembodied voice seemed to float around and through them. As it spoke, the boy tried to move around the woman. He needed to be with the light. It felt natural. It was always done this way. It was only right.

The woman’s grip was strong as she hauled him back. “No more vessels for you to destroy!”

“It’s the only way to fix things.” The voice was patient, as if explaining things to a child.

“You’re destroying everything!” she shot back. 

Before the boy could even blink, the being darted toward him. The woman held onto him firmly as she brought up a dagger. An amulet around her throat flared to life, creating a barrier. The bieng hissed in displeasure.

“Do you mean to kill him?” it asked.

The woman remained silent, but didn’t lower the dagger.

“Ill find another.”

“But it will take you time,” she countered.

The creature reached out again, the barrier becoming more translucent as it applied more pressure. “He belongs to me,” it said, “and you are not enough to stop me.”

“He’s an innocent!” she insisted. “If you’re so powerful, why do you need a physical, mortal form?” She slowly placed herself between the being and the boy.

The energy paused. “Don’t you know?” There was something like surprise in the voice. “Only mortals change things. They can influence the shape and way of the world around them.”

The woman stuttered as her mind tried to grasp the implication of the creature’s words. “You-you would still be a primordial being in a mortal body.”

“A loop hole in the rules,” it explained. “I can fix things. Set them right. Maintain the proper flow of things.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” the boy heard her whisper. She said louder, “You destroy your vessels. What use is a boy to you?”

“Children are malleable,” the being explained. “They don’t fight me as much, allowing me more time to complete my work.”

Horrified, the woman pressed the boy close to her. At the sound of the first crack in the shield spell, she swore. While the being distracted her with talk, it had slowly added more pressure to the barrier to break it down. She turned around and began to run, a crushing grip on the boy’s arm.

He realized she was looking for something when she stopped and went down a different path in the labyrinthine rock formations. There were plenty of ways out, but she was leading them deeper into the maze.

“Where are we going?” It was the first time he spoke, too overwhelmed by it all to ask much else.

“To a door,” she said, “and somewhere safe.”

What did doors have to do with anything? He started to ask when they came to an abrupt stop. An archway emerged, tucked behind some shrub trees and covered by a rock overhang. She touched the arch, whispering something as it began to glow a faint blue. When he peered through the arch, he saw a flatland with maybe trees in the distance. A prairie? It was a stark contrast to the red rocks and dirt they were surrounded by. 

“But my parents-” the boy began to protest.

“I’ll-“

He never got to hear her promise. The trees were ripped violently by their roots as the creature stalked toward them. They could feel the murderous intent coming toward them. For the first time the boy felt fear.

The woman looked at him. “Forgive me,” she said, and shoved him through the arch.

The creature reached for the boy as the woman drew her sword to slash at it. Something happened to the pathway to the new land. Maybe it was the creature trying to pull him back that sent him free falling. Or it was the woman trying to save him by destroying the doorway. It was likely both. But when he finally arrived, he was in a land he didn’t recognize as his own.

The world around him was gray and muted green. The rain made the dirt road muddy, staining his thin clothes. He looked toward the sky from where he fell. He turned toward the sound of voices, dazed. People were running toward him, asking questions he couldn’t make sense of. Someone pulled a blanket about him and he began to sob, his world forever changed. 

She would never know if he made it safely. A part of her noted that if the boy died, it still meant the being didn’t get its host. But as a mother, she hoped he survived, even as she destroyed the arch. As soon as it crumbled she felt blinding pain as she was struck and sent flying.

Gasping for breath and trying to shake her head clear, she staggered to her feet. The chances of her survival were slim, but the Universe sent her here to this moment, to find the boy. The least she could do was take the creature with her or die trying.

As the creature reached for her, she hacked at the limbs with her sword. It bought her enough time to focus on the fight itself. It lunged for her again, but remained at a distance. She’d have to create an opening and get on the inside.

It was the creature’s rage that did it in. It was so used to overwhelming whatever was in its way that being thwarted was new. And by such a lowly being at that. 

She conserved her energy and waited the being out for as long as possible, deflecting and parrying. She saw her moment when it retreated, deciding to charge forward. Catching the being by surprise, she widened the hole in its defenses, batting aside any attempts to repel her attacks. She felt pain, ignored it. Against something so strong, she knew her chances were slim. She slipped on some loose rocks. Terror bloomed in her chest as she struggled to recover, the tip of her blade wavering. There was only one way, and that was forward.

Planting her back foot, she pushed off it. A passing step to regain her balance, but she intended to close on her target anyway. She thrust the blade forward as she moved and was rewarded with the feel of the blade making contact with a body.

The creature slammed her down to the ground, hovering over her. “Foolish!” it spat at her. “You die here!”

Her chest felt constricted, and realized that her ribs were cracked or broken. Her leg was twisted at an odd angle and her right shoulder didn’t feel like it was there despite seeing it still attached. “That isn’t the point.” She gripped the sword as best she could. “Destroying your body is.”

Too late, the being realized that the sword was a divine weapon. The blade lit up with a holy light as the woman revealed herself to be a goddess. It flung her away as it tried desperately to pull the blade from itself. 

She tumbled to a stop near the archway. “It’s too late,” she rasped. “I’m a death goddess. A psychopomp. That sword is a god killer.” She felt a wave of anger from the being and knew it understood. The weapon or god alone couldn’t do anything to it. But a god killer wielded by a god of death?

The woman labored for breath as she watched the creature begin to writhe in pain. It could be killed, but the host and its physical form could be destroyed. She found out by accident what a weapon designed to kill the gods could do in the hands of a god of death. If it worked in nearly destroying a god-like creature, then surely it would work against a primordial being. Her gamble worked.

She felt the stones rumble, and she slipped from her leaning position She was falling, and kept falling. Did she go through the arch? A void greeted her, filled with stars. Some were close enough for her to touch, most were far away. She remembered when she was taken by the fae to go dancing among the stars, and when she climbed a mountain that reached the heavens.

Maybe, on some distant world, she was a shooting star.

There were worse ways to go.

~*~

Ctephon watched them tell the story. They were both so bright, drawing in everyone around them. The more he watched them, the more bright they seemed to shine. They were stars, pulling in everything around them into their orbit. Or maybe they were more like those singularities he read about in the old manuals, where anything caught in its gravitational pull was drawn further in, unable to escape. But they were infinite in a way, not depending on anything and the laws of the Universe seemingly having no effect on them. Would Time ever touch them?

And just like that, at the mere thought of their agelessness, he was overwhelmed. They were mortal, but not. They were liminal beings, existing with them, and yet not quite understanding their family and friends. They had memories of what it was like to be mortal, however long ago that was. 

They were on that threshold in different ways. He was reminded from time to time of her otherworldliness, her gaze seeing something he can’t. His impression of Lucien was of something earth made and ancient, weighed down by centuries of life. Both immortal. Both weighed down from knowing too much. 

His wife looked at him first, and he inhaled sharply. She was supposedly mortal now, but he didn’t think that was always true. She was weighing something, and she seemed to change ever so subtly. She seemed a little taller, her limbs a little longer, her eyes giving off a strange light. 

Lucien followed her gaze. The prince could feel the weight of them on him. There was something dark and primal in his eyes. It was ancient. Primordial. The pressure of that gaze was almost suffocating. He was being weighed and analyzed, a part of him terrified on what they would find.

An eternity passed, but no one noticed. No one else was looking at him. As that moment stretched on, he realized he was like them. Liminal like them, but for different reasons. He had lived hundreds maybe thousands of lifetimes, and stepped foot in that inbetween place of the living and the dead. He could see his previous lives but not grasp them. He thought he was drowning in them until she smiled at him.

The spell was broken, and time moved as it should. He took a steadying breath as the world came back into focus and realized she was his wife again.

Lucien inclined his head ever so slightly, and Ctephon returned the gesture. He was still talking as if nothing happened as he weaved his tale. 

The prince opened his mouth, a question on his lips, but with a slight shake of his wife’s head he fell silent. Questions for later, when there wasn’t an audience.

They moved on to other things. Safer things. Vaera was married and their two boys were at home. Lucien’s wife died but he has a daughter he dotes on. But there were unspoken questions and answers in everything they didn’t say.

Caught between two worlds, never quite belonging to either one.


	5. Astrometric Binaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the seventy-sixth time the proposal is made and Damir tries his best not to roll his eyes. He's caught in a loop he can't seem to break out of, and it's driving him mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My job is ramping up again
> 
> The crockpot is a blessing
> 
> My joints ache when a weather system rolls in
> 
> I am become the Weather Witch, Bringer of Rain
> 
> My life is Chaos

It’s the seventy-sixth time the proposal is made and Damir tries his best not to roll his eyes. The proposal to the trade negotiations doesn’t work. It  _ never _ works. Not in any timeline - loop? He’s not sure how many times he’s relived the same year over and over again - where the proposal is made.

“And of course Prince Dah-mer-“

“Dah-meer,” the prince corrects absently, flipping through the document packet. He’s lost count how many times his name is mispronounced long ago. No one offers an apology, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Damir half remembers that his behavior is erratic as of late. He’s bored, going mad from repeating the same year, and no one seems to realize it. He’s not even sure  _ why _ he’s bothering to pay attention this time.

Damir takes in a deep breath, holds it, then slowly releases it. Letting himself become overwhelmed by whatever is going on won’t help. He knows that, but each time it’s harder to maintain a grip on sanity. “Continue,” he says, barely glancing at the man that mispronounced his name.

He doesn’t bother to listen to the rest of the meeting, their voices droning on. He tries to focus on the words in the packet, but they seem to slide right off the page. He knows exactly what’s going to happen: they’ll propose to send him out for negotiations, his mother will think it an excellent idea - a change to stretch his legs and try things out - but the Serens will think that the proposal is no good. He admits that it benefits the Aestosi Empire far more than it does the Serens. He tried to tell everyone that it wouldn’t work before, but no one listens to him. No one ever does. It’s no wonder he’s losing his mind.

“I want a bodyguard,” he says abruptly. Everything comes to a halt.

“Pardon?”

“Your highness, your personal guard-“

“I want. A bodyguard.” He needs to look resolute, needs his voice to sound firm. More importantly, he needs to look and sound sane. “The Seren are largely peaceful,” he adds (isn’t there someone he knows that is a fierce soldier among them? A noble? A king? His mind keeps skipping), “and a display of power and wealth will only deepen their dislike and distrust of us.” What is he doing? Is this even the right place to bring this up? He keeps going. “Our aim is to foster a productive relationship, not intimidate them into following our rules. My guard can accompany me on my trip to Naissus, but I want one guard-” he holds up one finger for emphasis ”-to be with me.”

It’s the only thing he’s never tried before. The one thing he can think of to do to try to change this. Whoever ends up as his bodyguard, he hopes it’s one of his personal guard.

~*~

Damir knows his luck. It’s shit luck, which is worse than bad luck. He’s caught in this endless loop of the same year, after all. He hopes that the bodyguard assigned to him isn’t a complete idiot. He reconsiders and decides that they could be a complete idiot. So long as they are good at their job, eh doesn’t care. If they could keep a conversation going that would be better, but he refuses to count on it. He wouldn’t be so lucky as to get someone able to keep his mind from drifting further into madness.

He winds his way to his apartments, effecting the look of calm and serene even if he felt anything but. He passes a guard standing at attention near his doors. They look new, but pays it no attention. It’s not until he closes the door can be relax. He sags against the door, passing a weary hand over his face. How many days left of this year? he’s afraid to look. It’s always too many days.

A firm knock jolts him forward, whirling around to stare at the door. Maybe it’s his mind playing tricks on him, finally cracking under the pressure of reliving the same year again and again. There’s another knock on the door, and Damir breathes a sigh of relief. he walks to his desk, picking up some papers, and says, “Enter.”

The guard he saw earlier steps inside and salutes. “Your highness, I am Captain Miranu Davke. I’ve been assigned-“

“Sir,” Damir interjects.

“Pardon?”

“Call me ‘sir’ when not in a formal setting,” he says. He takes a moment to study the guard. What surprises him most is how young she looks. Does she really want to be here? Maybe she drew the short stick and is reluctantly here. “You’re early.”

She stills her fingers at her sides, not wanting to look startled or surprised. “I thought it best to learn your schedule, y- sir,” she amends quickly. “I understand that you will  _ not _ be traveling, and that a summit meeting will be held here.”

She’s thorough, if nothing else. She’s dressed neatly, dark hair pulled back. The blue and white of her uniform stands out in stark contrast to her olive skin. He thinks he should know her, but he’s not sure how. He realizes he’s staring and turns back to his desk. Maybe she won’t think too much of it. Maybe she’s already heard the rumours - that he has fae blood, that he suffers from fits of madness - and is just hoping that he’s lucid right now. Maybe she has a strong poker face.

He’s been silent too long, so he says, “I have meetings this afternoon to prepare for the summit.” He glances at the datapad, picking it up to check his schedule. “Have you done bodyguard work before?”

“Yes, sir.” There’s a hint of indignation in her voice, and the glance in her direction tells him that she’s preparing to defend her statement.

Damir reassesses his new guard and tells her, “Then you know where to stand during these meetings.” He prays he sounds bored or dismissive. He needs to sound  _ sane _ . But this is new. At least, he  _ thinks _ it’s new. Something nags at him the longer he looks at Miranu.

“Yes, sir,” comes the immediate response.

The prince nods, turning back to the datapad. She takes it as the dismissal that it is and makes herself as unobtrusive as possible. Damir barely spares her a glance as he readies his paperwork and datapads (he knows the paper is an odd habit, but writing on it keeps him calm. He can keep track of the echoes this way). She follows him quietly when he leaves for his afternoon meetings, a shadow walking in his footsteps.

She is true to her word, staying present without being in the way. But it seems to him that her gaze flickers to the corner of her eye, and he wonders if she sees something rather than assessing threats. She never tells him a word about her observations, merely acknowledges his orders. And so they continue, day in and day out.

She discovers that every few days, he will take one afternoon or morning to take a walk. She assumes it will be in the private gardens, but the prince surprises her when they leave the palace grounds. “This isn’t safe,” she advises him.

He only snorts at her warning and presses on.

She considers restraining him, but she’s curious. He’s done this before, based on the ease that he’s able to slip out of the walls. He barely spares her a glance as she follows, hardly waiting for her to catch up before he pushes onward. She’s surprised when she realizes they’re heading to the temple. The prince strikes her as a man of science, but doesn’t question him.

It’s not his first time here, as an acolyte recognizes him and leads the prince elsewhere. They almost stop her, but a word from Damir gives her passage. She sees him flinch as they walk down a hallway, but when she begins to push him behind her there’s no one there. 

He doesn’t look at her as he walks past.

She learns that the holy order think that Damir is blessed. What else explains the things he sees? Miranu stares at the prince.  _ Now _ she knows why there are so many whispers, but all he looks is frustrated.

“They’re not visions!” he insists, but the holy ones only nod sagely, knowingly, as if he hasn’t accepted the truth yet.

“It’s only a matter of time,” she hears them whisper as they leave.

He’s not a mad prince as they make their way to the science academy, but a frustrated one looking for answers. The scientists, while polite and don’t necessarily believe him,  _ are _ intrigued. But the prince looks annoyed and a bit exasperated, as if he’s explain this to them before.

She begins to wonder if maybe the priests are right.

~*~

The meetings are all the same. No matter what decision he makes, the summit meeting always ends up in Tymy. The reasons change, but it’s always the same in the end. The gleaming, eternal city is at the heart of what is going on, but he’s not sure how. He doesn’t really know where to begin to find an answer. All he has is his increasingly failing memory the more that he goes through the time loop and a red, leather bound notebook.

He’s not sure  _ why _ the notebook works the way it does, that it retains the information he writes down in it. He’s tried to figure it out before, and the only thing he can determine is that it may be like him, or exists in this reality – this time loop – the same way he does. Maybe they’re overlapping with this reality enough to leave a physical presence but a part of them exist outside of the reality to remember things. He doesn’t think that’s quite right, but he’s either not taken seriously by the science academy, labeled insane, or the priests think he’s touched by the gods because he can “see into the future.”

Maybe the reason why Miranu looks familiar is because he’s seen her before in another iteration of the timeline. That would mean she’s not a constant. Maybe her presence is enough to change things subtly. But as the days wear on, and things repeat themselves as they did before, that thought is quickly discarded. 

~*~

“Sir, where-“ Miranu begins.

“I don’t want to be inside,” is all he says as he leaves through a hidden gate in the garden wall. 

She can’t blame him. The ocean glitters on the horizon, the day is warm, and there’s not a cloud in sight. Before she loses sight and is blamed for the heir apparent’s disappearance. She follows him through the gate covered in overgrown climbing flowers. He’s fast, and she knows then that he’s done this a thousand times before with his sure footing and the occasional glance back in her direction. They dart through the hidden side alley, and she wonders if this was an ancient escape route from the palace.

“Sir, what about the people?”

“What of them?”

“Won’t they recognize you?” She has visions of the populace pressing in around him, with her the only barrier. 

“Certainly,” he replies, unconcerned.

She can’t help but worry. Once things turn sour as he gallivants about the city, she can use it as an example that going out is dangerous. They emerge into daylight, and Damir is so unmistakable with his white hair and finely tailored clothes that she expects them to be mugged in the first few minutes. But nothing happens. 

The people recognize their prince, but ignore him. She’s at turns baffled and relieved. Every way he turns the crowd parts, a nod acknowledging his presence. A few murmur to him, but she can only catch parts of the conversation.

“…doorways are active-“

“There’s commotion at the blue-“

“-from the academy-“

Damir listens to each of them patiently as they cast her uncertain, suspicious glances. He’s not an object of rumour and gossip out here. She thinks the people approach their prince with their concerns, but the more she listens, the more she realizes that these aren’t petitioners. 

“The woman appeared at the gate again.”

“A host traveled through the walls of my home. What does it mean?”

What is going on? How are these worth the prince’s time?

As if sensing her confusion, Damir looks back at her. “It might be easier to show you.”

“What if she doesn’t see them?”

See what? What were all of these people seeing that the palace was unware of?

Damir wants to say any number of things. Some flippant, others serious. He bites his tongue to keep from saying anything to sway the crowd. “We’ll see if she can first.”

Miranu frowns. Her first reaction is that this is somehow a joke. A very elaborate joke with everyone giving her very earnest and hopeful looks. She cautiously follows the prince, expecting things to be flipped on its head at any moment. They step out into the main plaza and the noise from the busy lives of the populace crash over her. It still feels like some sort of trick, but he leads her to the center of the plaza. Everyone seems to avoid it instinctually, even by those that look as though they’re about to walk right through it. It’s as if they change their minds suddenly and turn away.

“What are we-“

Damir motions her to silence, staring at one archway in particular. Miranu follows his gazes and waits.

She feels it before she sees it. The air shifts and ripples out, but there’s no wind. There’s a strange pressure on her chest, and she likens it to the same feeling right before a battle. She knows something is wrong, and looks around wildly to find the source. And then she sees it. A host of knights wearing armour and riding mounts she doesn’t recognize. 

She thinks they’re an invading force at first, but as she watches the chaos she expects doesn’t happen. The people go about their day as if nothing is wrong, and the army marches on. The moment seems to stretch on for an eternity.

“Do you see them?”

Damir is at her side, watching the foreign army.

“How am I seeing this?” she whispers. “Why now?” She has no memory of ever seeing anything like this. How was this happening?  _ Why? _

“I don’t know,” Damir admits, “but not everyone can see them. Some think they’re ghosts.” He turns to her when the apparition disappears. “They’re unaware of us. I’ve tried interacting with them, but they never respond and I...”

She looks at him, understanding flitting across her face. “There were rumours that you were talking to yourself, that you had gone mad. Some thought you were actually Fae, and you were speaking with them. You were seeing  _ this _ .” Miranu gestures to where the apparitions were moments ago.

“Not just this,” he tells her. “There are others.”

“What are they?”

The prince considers her question. “I don’t know. The priests think I’m blessed and what I see are visions.”

“Is there-” Miranu casts about for the right words ”-no scientific explanation?”

Damir smiles ruefully. “I’m the Mad Prince, remember?”

~*~

He shows her the other places. Sometimes they see something -- that same static crackling in the air and the pressure in their chest --, but most often there’s nothing. Miranu finds the whole thing fascinating and the images (“Echoes,” Damir tells her) she sees are like glimpses of peoples’ lives. They were pivotal moments and every day experiences she saw.

It’s months before she sees all of the ones that Damir knows of, typing away furiously on her datapad. Maybe there is something tying all of these occurrences together. Surely science could explain what is going on with the sightings. But so few people see them, and the echoes never appear consistently at the known places. When she’s not busy protecting the prince, she is obsessively collecting all information about these so called ghosts. Damir helps her, and it seems to her that he’s relieved to have company. He’s resistant to go to the science academy and he won’t tell her why, but he helps her search for any scrap of information.

“They never believe me,” he tells her once.

“But if enough people-“

“The percentage of people,” Damir interjects, “that see these echoes is very small. It’s a blip. A small curiosity. Nothing more. It’s not enough for the science community to find interesting.”

“It’s enough for you and others to be considered crazy,” Miranu points out.

Damir snorts, looking over decades old datapads from the academy. “Poor people are crazy. I’m  _ eccentric.”  _

Miranu rolls her eyes. “Why don’t I see them all the time like you?” she asks suddenly.

The question makes him pause. “What do you mean?”

“When you see these echoes, I don’t always see them. But you-” She peers at him, looking for some sort of clue ”-you see all of them, don’t you?”

“I see more than most,” he says evenly. 

How does he explain to her the endless loop he’s found himself in.? Of all the loops he’s been in, this is the first time that he can recall where things actually changed. But some things don’t. The junior ambassador falls in love with their assistant. A man take out his own eye during a prank gone wrong. One of the acolytes tells him that he sees things and it will only spell their doom. The faded images he sees are always the same. They never change.

Maybe he’s cursed. Maybe he’s caught in his own personal hellscape. Maybe he’s being punished for a crime he no longer remembers.

He recalls science lessons, and he begins to wonder if he’s beginning to perceive the universe outside of time. It only seems like he’s trapped in an endless loop. Maybe he’s been looking at his situation from the wrong-

“Damir?”

Her voice is strained, exasperated, tired. How long did he drift?

“You went somewhere,” she tells him quietly.

He frowns, wants to ask her if he physically left, thinks better of it, and says, “I was thinking about possible reasons why. I doubt I’m the only one who sees so many.”

“The academy-“

”-will ignore-“

“ _ Not _ if we provide them data!” she says in exasperation, holding out the datapad to him and gesturing to the mess on his desk. “Despite what you think, a couple of people in the science community  _ are _ interested in this. A couple of them are doing surveys. We provide them with data, maybe a scientist will take a closer look.”

“They dismissed me,” he says stubbornly.

“But  _ now _ there are more people claiming to see the same things that  _ you _ do,” Miranu presses. “I may be just a captain in your army, but I was sent to a secondary school. If we can give them more information, they may take another look.”

The prince pins her with a level stare, weighing her argument. He  _ think _ this is the 76 th loop. It could be more. He knows he’s lost time from his bouts with insanity, and he fears that if he keeps repeating this year he will surely lose all sense of himself. What else could he lose?

~*~

“This is extraordinary!” The researcher pours over the data, combing through the papers and datapads. “These sightings go back centuries, and it’s because the city exists on a - what was it?”

“A nexus point,” Damir supplies.

“And these exist all over our galaxy, you say?” She doesn’t look at the prince, instead chronologically ordering all of the data.

Damir holds out another pad for the scientist. “These are the known nexus points a few centuries ago.”

She takes the datapad from him, staring down at a scan of an ancient map. “Where is the original?” She zeroes in to see the details, noting the archaic language.

“In the museum. I asked for a digital copy,” he tells her by way of explanation. “The translation is attached.”

She hmms as she peers at the map, lines drawn from world to world with ancient names attached. There were symbols next to a couple of the worlds and a slash through several more. “How much do you know about this... chart?”

“Not much,” he lies. “I think the markings tell which worlds have nexus points and which don’t.” He knows every inch of that map. He knows about Kaer and Tymy. He even knows about the Fae realms and their strange relationship with time and space. He stays quiet, remembering past loops. he needs to appear sane.

Damir resists the urge to look back at Miranu. He wants to look like he knows what he’s doing.  _ Needs _ to. He doesn’t want to be the Mad Prince anymore. He wants to solve this. He doesn’t want to lose his mind. Panic begins to build, and he clenches his fist. Nails dig into the fleshy part of his palm, the pain grounding him.

The scientist points to a world and the familiar markings for the city of Tymy. “This is us.” She looks up at him. “ _ Is _ there one here?”

Damir shrugs, and hopes it looks casual instead of forced. “It explains the sightings,” he hedges. He doesn’t want to be seen as not all there.

“How so?” She looks up at him curiously, and it seems to him that everyone is holding their breath as they await his answer.

“The ancients believed one exists here,” he says faintly. “So do the Fae.”

“Hmm. So do the Serens.” The scientist -- he keeps trying to remember her name, and it continues to slip his mind as he focuses on this moment -- tap a finger on the desk as she ponders her options. She smiles suddenly, excited and eager. “If my colleagues can do a study on ancient myths and water, proving that our oceans are older than the world, then I can do this.” 

Damir is taken aback by her enthusiasm, and she sobers. “I’m glad you’ll look into it,” he replies smoothly.

“I do have a question, your grace.” The prince motions for her to continue. “Why bring this to me?”

He’s honest for the first time during this meeting. “I read your thesis about the Fae and their strange relationship with spacetime, and how entering their realm appears to be a time dilation effect, suggesting that the Fae are living on the edge of a singularity.”

“I wasn’t aware that you were interested in science.”

Damir swears to himself that if he ends up repeating this year again, he will  _ not _ be going to the priests first. “It’s my first love.” It’s not quite a lie. Science is the only way he can make sens of it all right now. Science gives him clarity. Miranu gives him focus. All he wants are answers, and he knows with science the chances of finding them are high.

“I’m willing to fund your research, doctor.” He still can’t remember her name.

She can hardly contain her excitement. “When would be a good time to sit down to go over the details?”

“Tomorrow?”

She beams at him. “Perfect.”

***

Miranu tells him later that the scientist’s name is Ada Brielle, who tends to research the unusual and often overlooked (Damir writes her name down this time). In a little over a standard week, Ada organizes and charts all of the information. It’s a shame she sends the information  
during the summit meeting. He would rather be reading her findings than to go through this bickering again. Especially when the message states that Ada sent a query off world not a neighboring world that might have a nexus point.

“No word back yet,” the message reads.

The words jump out at him. It’s out of place somehow. Unease settles in the pit of his stomach. Something niggles at the back of his mind. He can’t quite place it. Wasn’t there a message somewhere?

He motions for Miranu, who steps forward and leans down. The prince says nothing. Simply hands the datapad with a message waiting to her. “Inquire about the lack of comm. with Ada.”

Miranu murmurs an acknowledgment and is on her way, sending in a replacement while she is away. She understands  _ why _ Damir wants her to speak to Ada, but she wonders what could the communication down time. She makes her way through the winding halls of the palace, moving around courtiers, foreign nobles, and staff. Something makes her pause as she passes a corridor. It’s almost the same feeling when she sees the apparitions, but the world around her seems to dull, sound becoming muffled. 

She was always too curious for her own good, and so she steps into an old, disused corridor. A chill shudders down her spine. There’s a sense that she should know this place, but there’s no memory of ever being down here. Right?

Something flickers before her and she takes in a sharp breath. It solidifies into a Seren woman with dark, curly hair wearing a day dress. The woman beckons her to follow and turns down another hallway. Miranu follows before she can second guess herself. The woman is halfway down the hall when she rounds the corner. Sprinting to catch up, the woman fades for a moment before she gestures for Miranu to hurry.

She knows this woman. She knows it deep in her bones, but the woman escapes her. The apparition pauses at a door, pointing to it. Miranu reaches for the handle with trembling hands, a heavy weight suddenly pressing down on her. She turns the handle and pushes the door open.

It’s an ancient computer terminal, a thick layer of dust coating every available surface. There are notes and oudated manuals scattered on the table and by the computer. There’s a green light blinking at her, indicating something is ready. She glances back toward the door, but the woman is gone. Mirnau approaches the terminal and sits down in the chair, coughing as a cloud of dust erupts. She presses a key on the keyboard to wake the computer. The machine whirs to life and the terminal screen lights up. A message box slowly appears.

_ Download 33% Complete _

Curious, she types in the command to play what is available. It takes the terminal a moment, the ancient machine preparing the file to play. It’s audio only. She presses play.

She starts in surprise when she hears her voice on the recording.

***

Damir doesn’t correct him this time when he mispronounces his name. Someone else does instead.

He almost misses his cue to say something. He doesn’t ask for a bodyguard. There’s a limited amount of time and he needs to track down a man. He’s focused. More than he has been in a long while. The partially downloaded audio file mentions that there is another man, Lysacon, involved. The clip is distorted, large chunks indecipherable and therefore useless. But he heard his voice and Miranu’s. But this Lysacon...

He decides to start earlier this time around, collecting all of the data himself and giving it to Ada. She’s just as excited as the last time. She asks the same questions and he gives her the same answers. She’s off again, and for a while all he can think about is water older than the dawn and the fae living on the edge of an event horizon. The edge of forever, Ada calls it. He wonders, not for the first time, if this is happening to them right now.

He needs to focus. He  _ must _ focus. Finding Lysacon may be the key to all of this. As he searches discretely, he realizes that he’s running out of time. Which isn’t entirely true. He has all the time in the Universe. His sanity won’t last much longer.

He’s losing patience. There are twelve days left and he still can’t find this Lysacon. All he knows for sure is that the person is male and a Seren ambassador. What’s giving him hell is that no one has seen him. In fact, no one has seen the rulers of  Ilidour or Cailethia , either. How could they be missing two rulers from a summit meeting when they said they would be here? Everyone knows they’re married, but their work comes first. Maybe they are being selfish for once.

The whole thing feels undeniably  _ wrong _ . If he’s stuck in a time loop with Miranu, wouldn’t  _ everyone _ be stuck with him? He investigate, heedless of the rumours, and his “deranged behavior.” He doesn’t care. If he can find Lysacon before the loop resets, he’ll deal with it then. If not, things go back and he’s not the Mad Prince anymore.

He forces his way into Kiera and Rhys’ assigned apartments in the palace. At least, he  _ tries _ to force his way in. The guards are already gone and the doors are unlocked. He hears nothing beyond the door. He knows why  _ he’s _ here, but why is anyone else here? He eases the door open, careful not to make a sound as he steps inside, only to stop short. 

“Miranu?” the prince blurts out.

The captain jumps and whirls around, hand reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. “Shit! You scared me.”

“What are you  _ doing _ here?” He closes the door behind him, then stops again to stare at her. “Do you  _ remember?” _

“Bits and pieces,” she confesses. “I remember _ you_, but you didn’t ask for me like last time. I remember a transmission, and someone named Lysacon.”

“You started looking.”

She shrugs. “I was counting on being able to remember in the next loop. If you asked for me next time, I could tell you what I found out.”

The fact that she might not in the next loop hangs in the air. There is no time to think about it now.

“We’re running out of time,” he says.

“Hours?” she asks, turning away to continue her search for clues. “Days? Weeks?”

“Twelve days,” he tells her. Damir looks around, noting the absence of its occupants. Everything looks untouched for some time. There are signs that people were here, but the whole of the apartments look-

“Did they just abandon everything and not tell anyone?” Miranu paces about the main room. “Uproot the entire family and go-” she gestures wildly in frustration ”-home?”

Damir focuses on something behind her, watching it take shape. “No...” He draws the word out, his voice taking on an edge.

Alarmed, Miranu turns around. She takes a step back, shielding the prince from a possible threat. A Fae appears, as if phasing in to their realm. Ada’s thesis pops into his head, about the Fae and their relationship with spacetime.

“Apologies for surprising you,” they say. “It was difficult getting here.”

“I thought the Fae could go anywhere...” Miranu’s voice trails off uncertainly.

They dip their head. “Normally yes.”

Damir wants to be angry, to demand why now, why they waited so long to help. As quickly as the anger flares, it passes, and he’s left with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. But the Fae, with its otherworldly appearance that reminds him of mist, seem unconcerned. “Why are you here?” he asks finally.

“To help,” they reply simply.

And just like that, Damir is too tired. Too tired to move, to fight, to push forward. Miranu must sense it, because she lightly touches his arm. He stares at her, and time seems to stretch out before him.

How many times did their paths almost cross? How close was she in every loop? And now, in this loop -- even after  _ deliberately _ not asking for a bodyguard -- she’s here, their paths overlapped.

Damir doesn’t necessarily believe in Fate, in the red string tethering you to certain people or that lives are predetermined; but he’s beginning to believe that some people will meet no matter what happens. They’re like stars in a binary system, always swirling around each other, pulling at the other, held in balance by the gravity between them. He realizes then that no matter how many times this loop repeats, they will always be connected, their movements influencing one another even if they never meet.

“We need to find Lysacon,” comes her quiet voice.

Time resumes its normal pace, and he nods in agreement. He turns to the Fae. “Can you help us find him?”

~*~

They don’t know the first thing about Lysacon or where he could be (or they don’t remember. Neither of them are sure which it really is anymore). They start with the visiting Serens, but everyone they ask have uncertain memories. When Damir and Miranu ask more questions, things become murky. People know who Lysacon  _ is_, but no idea where he  _ could be _ . 

“Damir!” Miranu hisses at him, tugging on his arm.

He stops and turns back to her, about to ask her what she wants as he halts mid step. He completely missed all the signs that precede an apparition of an echo, but this one is strange.

The echo is a male Seren dressed in scholarly robes. He thinks. Damir can tell the clothes are ornate and well made, but something seems off. It’s almost as if the echo can see them, gesturing for them to follow.

The prince glances over to the Fae, but they are as impassive as always. All they do is watch the shade. He can’t help but thing the Fae knows more than they let on. They always keep things close to their chest and never reveal anything unless they must. The longer he looks the more things distort-

A hand on his arm snaps him back to the here and now. “Do we follow?” Miranu asks, gesturing to the Seren.

He doesn’t even pause. “Yes.” 

His gut tells him this is the right path. He begins to follow the apparition, the other two following close behind.

The world seems to shift around them, but when he or Miranu try to focus on it nothing appears out of place. Their gazes remain locked on the Seren, ignoring the slipping, sliding world they can only see from the corner of their eyes. The Fae is a silent presence trailing behind them.

They go unnoticed through the palace grounds, leaving without the guards noticing. They find themselves in the slums of the city. Miranu keeps a hand on her weapon, sure that they would be mugged. But the Seren leads them deeper, and they find themselves in an ancient part of the metropolis. The apparition leads them to a dilapidated temple. There are still offerings laid out on the steps, food and incense leaving behind a cloying scent. Inside are tattered silks and more offerings, along with a man pacing.

His dark hair disheveled, his clothes dirty and fraying at the edges. The man notices the Seren first.

“Rhys! Did you find them?”

The apparition gestures to the three of them and the man turns toward them. There’s a wild look in his eye as he approaches, Miranu placing herself in front of Damir. “You’re here! You remember!”

“They do not,” the Fae tells him.

The man looks devastated. “But, you said-“

“I said I would  _ find _ them.” The fae glances at Miranu and Damir. “I did not say that their memories would be intact.”

The prince steps from behind Miranu. “Are you Lysacon?”

The man surges forward eagerly, Miranu darting in front of him. A hand on his chest and a low warning from her keeping him from crowding the prince. “I am. Do you remember me?’

“You were on a transmission-” Damir begins.

“It went through? It went through!” Lysacon practically dances where he stands.

“Do you remember what happened before?” Miranu asks.

Lysacon freezes where he is, sobering immediately. “I remember everything,” he whispers. “Lyrac  _ needs _ me to make changes. Only  _ mortals _ can change the state of things. But he can only take a vessel that is of his blood. It’s why he needs me. But Aethorn found me before  _ he _ did, took me here, hid me,” he explains, gesturing to the Fae.

“I do not know everything that is going on,” they say immediately. “I served Kiera. My attempts were to save her, but I found Lysacon first. It was necessary to protect him then contact either of you in each loop.”

“Are  _ you _ controlling the loops?”

Aethorn shakes their head. “He is.”

They stare at Lysacon, who is muttering to himself. “There’s so much to tell you,” is the last thing they hear.

“Lysacon, do you remember every loop?” Miranu asks quietly.

“Kiera touched me for a moment. She put this on me.” He grips something in his hand that hangs from a chain around his neck. “It hides me from him, but he almost found me. It’s why I’m here.”

“What happened when Kiera gave you that?” She tries to keep her voice quiet, glancing at Damir for support. He nods his encouragement and remains silent.

“Everything is happening because of me. He needs me alive. Every time I die the loop resets.” Lysacon barely reacts to Damir inhaling sharply.

“Do you know how to break the loop?” Miranu tries to keep the desperation out of her voice. When Damir tries to push forward, she gives him a severe look.

Lysacon nods, looking everywhere but at her and clutching something in his hand. He mumbles something, then falls silent.

Miranu isn’t sure if getting closer or pushing for an answer will cause him to flee. She looks to Aethorn helplessly.

“I brought them here, just as you and Rhys asked,” they say, prompting a Lysacon to look at them. “They want to help.”

“Rhys,” Lysacon breathes.

“Yes,” Aethorn says, “your king sent them to help you.”

Something changes on Lysacon’s face. He turns to look at Miranu and Damir, and for the first time he looks lucid. “Lyrac will break the loop once he has me. That’s  _ his _ condition.”

Miranu resists the urge to grab the ambassador by the shoulders. “Can  _ we _ break the loop?”

“Your conditions are more difficult. Rhys and Kiera need to be freed form their curse,” he begins. “The Seven Fallen Gods need to be awakened. The last condition: either kill  _ Lyrac _ or kill  _ me. _ ”

Miranu rears back as Damir lurches forward. “Wait. I thought your death resets the loop. How does your death meet the conditions?” the prince demands.

“Death by your own hand isn’t enough,” Lysacon says ruefully. “I’ve tried, but he can sense when I’m dying. He resets the loop every time. He can sense when  _ I _ make the attempt.”

“But it’s always a year,” Damir says, staring hard at the other man. “I counted.  _ A year. _ ” 

Lysacon jerks his head to the silent Fae. “You have Aethorn to thank for that.”

Dr. Brielle’s thesis comes to mind once more. The Fae always did have a unique relationship with Time. What if-

“A year is the extent of my abilities,” they murmur. “Especially against someone so powerful.’

“You’ve been watching him this entire time?” Damir asks.

“Almost,” Lysacon answers. “The first few times I was on my own. Aethorn found me not long after. Brought me here.”

Damir stares at him for a long moment. Why bring the most sought after man to an old temple in the ancient part of the city? Sure, the temple is now in what’s considered the slums, but if this Lyrac is as powerful as they say, why not bring him to-

“This is the nexus,” the prince says abruptly. He looks around him, as if the temple will suddenly change with the realization. “That’s why he’s safer here than any other place in Tymy.” He wonders if he’ll remember this in future loops. He wants to preserve this temple. He wonders how much knowledge is still here within its walls. He wonders if Dr. Brielle knows about this place.

“You said that he can sense you dying,” Miranu says thoughtfully. “If one of the conditions is your death, and you’ve been here through most of the loops, he senses you dying but can’t find you. Correct?”

“Yes.” Lysacon heaves a sigh. “I don’t know how we can make it happen before he resets the loop.” He passes over his face, exhaustion overcoming him. “I just want this to end. If my death will bring that...”

“There must be a better way,” Damir insists. He understands the want to end it all, thought. Lysacon seems to remember more than him, and if  _ he _ is being driven mad by the constant resets, he can only imagine the state of mind Lysacon must be in. The ambassador is lucid now, but moments before he wasn’t all there.

“I’m tired,” Lysacon sighs. “Between the two options to meet the criteria, my death would be easiest. Lyrac is a  _ god _ ...” He trails off, his mind wandering down dark paths as his gaze turns inward. “Destroying his vessel is the best way to ensure he doesn’t get his way.”

Damir sighs in frustration, pacing away from the ambassador. “We still need to meet the other conditions,” he says, walking back. “Where are Kiera and Rhys? How can we break their curse? How do we awaken the Seven Fallen Gods?”

Lysacon focuses back on Miranu and Damir. “I don’t know.”

~*~

It’s the seventy-eighth time the man mispronounces his name. He decides it will be the last. He asks for a bodyguard, and specifies that it needs to be Captain Miranu Davke . She remembers him this time, and he finds himself relieved and grateful. They pull in all their research, every last scrap. Everything they can find about the Fae, all the information about Kiera and Rhys, all the old stories mothers told their children about the Seven Fallen Gods.

They give everything they have to Dr. Brielle. She’s thrilled by the information, but doesn’t know what to do about Rhys and Kiera. The research in other areas expand, and before long researchers are canvasing the areas where the echoes are strongest. Damir thinks this has happened before, but he can’t quite place it and he’s far from sure.

He and Miranu are in a lab, electrodes taped to his forehead and other monitoring devices attached to him, when they feel that familiar pressure in their chests. Damir thinks it’s deja vu, but Miranu is looking in the same direction as him. They see soldiers as equipment alarms blare. The scientists get their information and an assistant approaches them.

Miranu grips Damir’s arm as he pulls sensors from his arm. She doesn’t remember as much as Damir, but sometimes things and people will drudge up a memory of a previous time. “The transmission!” She shakes him, ignoring the gasps from those around her. “It arrived last time. No, a time before. After that it was at 33%. It should be here by now!”

Damir nods slowly, but he can’t help but think they’re missing an important piece of the puzzle. But he remembers the transmission. He remembers hearing his voice, but not all the information that’s in it. He pulls the rest of the sensors off his skin impatiently, stands, and begins to straighten his clothes.

“Before you leave, we found a transmission,” the assistant says nervously.

Miranu freezes. “We’ve done this before,” she says just loud enough for Damir to hear her. Dread and excitement churns in her stomach. A part of her knows what the transmission is about, but she still needs to hear it.

“It’s very unusual,” she says nervously, glancing between the captain and the prince, “but this is the key-- well, one of... but we think we know what’s going on.”

Damir’s world shifts. He remembers this.

_ We’re on the edge of a singularity. This transmission took so long to get to us because of time dilation. _

_ How much time has passed? _

_ About a thousand years. _

He barely listens to the rambling explanation. The last time he heard this it was seven loops ago. He thinks. How much time has passed since then? What was the world, the universe, like since they ended up here?

“Right now our existence overlaps the same space, but because of an unknown anomaly, we’re not... really here? Or there, as it were.”

_ We’re like echoes or ghosts from another world because of our position on the event horizon. _

“How much time?” Damir asks abruptly.

“Umm...” The assistant flips through her datapad as she searches. She pales, her gaze jerking up to meet his.

“How many centuries?” he asks quietly. “A millennia? Longer?”

_ Somewhere between 750 to 1500 years. _

“Nearly two millennia.” Her voice quakes, wondering if their prince will fly into a rage.

Damir stares at her. So much time, but hardly any time at all. This Lyrac did this to them. What happened to Tymy since he uprooted them? Where they a legend? A myth? A story of caution? If they break this loop, free themselves form the event horizon, what happens to them?

“We need to find Lysacon.”

Miranu’s voice breaks through his thoughts. He looks up at the captain, sees the assistant sag in relief that his attention is on someone else. “We should bring Dr. Brielle with us.”

~*~

Ada isn’t surprised that the true heart of the nexus is in an ancient temple. She  _ is _ surprised to find a Seren male and a Fae living in the temple. She takes everything they tell her in stride. The facts are the facts. Knowing they’ll eventually be sucked into the heart of a singularity is something they have no control over.

When they tell her about a time loop, it’s almost too much. There’s no such thing as time travel. Not like how it’s used in fiction. But here she is, face to face with the Fae.

“So... the nexus is  _ here _ ?” Ada gestures to the floor of the temple. “Not at the temple on the hill?” She points over her shoulder vaguely.

“Correct,” Aethorn tells her.

“And my theory about the Fae and their relationship with Time is correct.”

Aethorn pauses a fraction of a second. “Yes.”

Ada nearly beams. “Are  _ you _ the reason why we’re here? By the singularity, I mean.”

Aethorn almost smiles. “I am not.”

“But you and Lysacon are responsible for the time loop.”

“No.”

“This Lyrac is?”

“Yes.”

“And there are conditions to meet to break out of the loop.”

“Correct.”

“You’ve known about this, this entire time?”

“Not entirely.”

Damir stands behind her, Miranu not far from his side. “Some of those people you pulled in that were called ‘crazy?’ They remembered each loop. Like Lysacon. Like-” he stops.

“Like you,” Ada finishes for him. She looks at Miranu. “And you?”

“I don’t always remember everything,” Miranu admits.

“I don’t remember a single damn thing,” Ada tells them bluntly. “So, why am I here?”

They all hesitate to answer. It’s Lysacon who finally speaks.

“We’re hoping you help me die.” His voice is so quiet and somber that his words don’t fully register immediately.

Ada shakes her head vehemently. “I don’t kill people. If this is some weird suicide pact-“

“It’s not that,” Miranu cuts in impatiently. “Aethorn and Lysacon believe Lyrac is using the nexus. We’re hoping there’s a way to disrupt it.” She doesn’t mention that they’re hoping to time it with Lysacon’s heart stopping. She also doesn’t mention that if they fail they will likely keep repeating this year forever. Or until the black hole swallows them. She’s not sure which is preferable at the moment.

“You’re serious.” Ada looks at the four of them. She’s done a lot of crazy things in the name of science, but this was by far the craziest and most far fetched. “It’s basically a maelstrom of raw energy. Trying to get it to- to-” she gestures wildly ”-burp or hiccup is impossible!”

“Even if the Fae help you?” Aethorn asks.

Ada gives them a long look. She wants to know, wants to  _ ask _ , but there’s a chance that if she does she’ll never find out if the Fae use technology, or learn the secrets of their magic. “I might be able to do something with your help,” she admits.

~*~

“There  _ must _ be a better way,” Damir insists. He  _ wants _ there to be a better way. He doesn’t feel that Lysacon should die simply because a great, cosmic like being wants to possess him. It’s too much like a punishment for someone who did nothing wrong.

“You know better than most what reliving the same amount of time will do to your mind.” Lysacon is exhausted. There are deep circles under his eyes and his skin is sallow. He’s in desperate need of sleep, but can never seem to get enough. “I’m  _ tired. _ I relive each year and fight against Lyrac’s pull. I don’t want to dream anymore.” He says the last quietly, and it’s at this moment they realize how much of a broken man he is.

Silence settles over them, Damir looking on helplessly. “What about a dreamless sleep? Cryogenics, for instance.”

“For how long? Indefinitely?” Lysacon snaps. “I might as well be dead.”

“We could-“

“You were a soldier,” Miranu interrupts. She ignores Damir’s annoyed look, focusing on the ambassador. When Lysacon nods, she understands. He’s fought as long as he can. Death would be preferable than to leave a way for this to happen again. It’s an assured solution to a potentially never ending problem.

“So long as I’m alive, he will keep trying. It won’t matter what state my body is in.”

“How do we kill you so that Lyrac can’t resurrect you?” she asks quietly.

This woman, who has quietly been in the background -- always supporting, always offering suggestions, quietly refocusing them on the task at hand, and a grounding presence in the prince’s life -- is suddenly the only person in their little world who understands Lysacon.

“Stopping your heart won’t be enough, will it?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He sees understanding in her gaze, and he’s relieved. 

She thinks over the options available and seemingly changes her train of thought. “How much do you know about the nexus?”

“It’s a connection in a series of connections. It’s raw energy from the cosmos...” Lysacon trails off, alighting on her same thought. “I don’t know if he’ll let me.”

“Did he stop you before?”

The way she asks the question gives Lysacon pause. He thinks back to previous times. “No...” he answers slowly.

And just like that they have a plan. It’s a relief that someone understands. He just wants it to end. He knows that if anything goes sideways, she will grant him mercy.

“This is  _ madness!_” Damir whispers, horrified.

“It’s not your decision to make.” Miranu levels a look at him. “I would be honouring a request from a brother in arms.”

“Why this? Why this particular way?”

“We’re fighting against a neigh-omnipotent being. We can’t do this half-assed. There aren’t loop holes in the rules to exploit. You and Lysacon would’ve found it by now.”

Damir looks as though he wants to say something, then decides against it. What could they realistically do? Denying Lyrac the only thing keeping them in this hellscape might free them.  _ If _ the other conditions are met (How do they meet the other conditions? He dares not think about it). To save Lysacon means confronting Lyrac and he knows they have no way of killing him. Lysacon’s death makes the most help and he hates it.

Miranu doesn’t lecture him. Doesn’t need to. She can tell by watching him that he comes to the same realization. She knows he doesn’t like it. “Ada and Aethorn could use your help,” she tells him quietly. 

“What will you do?” the prince asks.

“Help Lysacon prepare.”

~*~

The nexus is both smaller and bigger than expected. The contraption surrounding the the nexus point is jarring next to the swirling mass of raw energy. None of them are sure what’s creating the low hum in the bowels of the temple: the nexus or the machinery.

Lysacon is speaking with Miranu in low, urgent tones. No one can hear them over the hum, but they can see Miranu nod. Damir wonders if he would have made it this far without her help. It’s not likely. He was on the verge of madness in every loop that she wasn’t there. He needs her more than she needs him. So why him and Lysacon in every loop? Why were they the ones to remember everything?

His thoughts are interrupted by Ada. 

“Everything is synced.” She isn’t looking at them, but staring into the swirling maelstrom of energy. 

“If this works, what happens?”

“We’ll be moved from the edge of a spacetime event horizon of the singularity. We’ll no longer feel the effects of the time dilation and return to current spacetime.” She focuses on the screen in front of her, double checking her instruments.

“Um...”

Ada  _ almost _ sighs. “We’ll be returned to present time. I went over the data you gave me.” She waits until the prince looks at her. “More time has passed then everyone thinks,” she says quietly. “We’ll be returning to a land and world that is completely foreign to us.” She leaves out everything else, about the other universes, the other realms. Their world has passed them by. Maybe Tymy is the stuff of legends now, or a warning for the hubris of mortals. Whatever their world is now, she wants to see it.

“If we fail?”

“We stay here, on the very edge of forever.”

“I didn’t know you liked poetry.”

Ada grins, realizing their roles are flipped. She shrugs. “I have a lot of time on my hands right now. I thought I’d expand my horizons.” She’s about to add that she intended the pun but stops when she sees Lysacon and Miranu approach.

“I’m ready.”

Lysacon is composed, and seems at peace with his decision. He’s groomed himself as best he could and dressed in funeral white and blue.

Ada regards the ambassador carefully before she speaks. “I don’t know what will happen to you. This machine-” she taps the side of the terminal screen ”-is designed to amplify the energy of the nexus for a few moments. It’s the energy of the universe in there, and your body will likely be broken down to its base components.” She wants to give them hope, and adds on impulse, “Our bodies are made of the earth and star stuff. You’ll be one with the universe.”

Lysacon smiles a little. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” And the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the thought. “What do I need to do?”

Ada shrugs. “Step in?”

The architecture containing the nexus looks unremarkable and decidedly ordinary. It’s shaped like a wide rimmed bathing pool with steps leading into the shifting, swirling energy. It may have been a ritual bathing pool before the nexus point found it’s way there, but the temple is already so old that it’s hard to say for sure.

“We couldn’t find any information about any rituals involving this. There are stairs, so we think...” She trails off awkwardly. She doesn’t say the word, but a wry smile Lysacon offers her says that he understands the unspoken meaning.

“You’ll find my son?” he asks her quietly.

“Yes, and if Dr. Brielle is right, I’ll find his descendants,” Miranu assures him.

Lysacon takes the amulet and his sword belt off and gives them to Miranu, wrapping the belt around the sword. He bows to Damir and gives the prince the ring he wore as ambassador. There’s nothing to give Ada except for what data she collects. He nods to her before descending the stairs to the well. Aethorn is an impassive presence behind them.

Nothing happens as he steps into the nexus. Lysacon wades out to the center and simply waits. Ada taps something into a terminal. Machines whirl and the low thrum grows louder. The swirling energies of the nexus seem to grow bright. Lysacon’s mouth drops open. They think he’s screaming, and Damir turns away.

Miranu clutches his arm when the light intensifies. “Damir  _ look_!”

The wonder in her voice catches his attention and he turns back. Lysacon is bathed in and shines with a brilliant, indescribable light. It’s not a silent scream of pain on the man’s face, but of wonder, seeing things that only the nexus can show of the universe. His body begins to take on the same colour of the energy surrounding him. Glittering pieces of light begin to leave his body until nothing is left but the swirling energies of the well.

Machines power down and they wait.

It’s Aethorn who breaks the silence. “You should prepare yourselves.

Ada jumps in surprise. “For what?” she demands.

“Tymy is about to be returned to current spacetime.”

“We broke the loop?” Damir dares not hope. He can hardly breathe after what he saw, but if they’re free... “How? There was a condition about seven people we need to find.”

Aethorn tilts their head as if listening to something. “The conditions were- will be met. The time loop Tymy is trapped in will be broken. Your city returns to the universe.”

Miranu wonders at the tense change as Aethorn speaks but all she can think about is how much trouble they are in. “Lyrac won’t be happy.”

Aethorn almost smiles. “ _You _ are no longer his primary concern.” They turn to Damir. “Young prince, your people will need you. You should return.”

“Ada?” Damir asks. He wants to know that she will be okay, that she’s not going to disappear too. He hopes she comes with them. 

“I’m gathering all the data now,” she tells him. “The community will be in for a big shock. You’ll need every scrap of information you can get.”

“You’re coming with us?” Miranu asks.

Ada snorts. “How else will you explain what’s about to happen?” She nods in satisfaction, unhooking her datapad from the machine and standing up. “Let’s prepare your populace.”

“Aethorn, what will-“

They all stop, searching for the Fae.

“Aethorn?”

There is no answer.

“We shouldn’t dwell. The Fae come and go as they please,” Damir murmurs. He turns toward the stairs leading up and out. He looks down at the ring Lysacon gave him. “We prepare the populace. We find Lysacon’s son or his descendants. We should also find Kiera and Rhys.”

“And Lyrac?” Ada asks.

“We find him, too,” Miranu answers. “He’s a mad god that needs to be stopped. We take what time we have until we return to figure out how to stop him.”

They begin to climb the stairs, eventually emerging into the main sanctuary. Miranu pauses a moment to light a candle.

“We’ll honour him,” Damir promises her. “Tymy will always remember him.”

Looking at the prince, time seems to shift. Or maybe her reality flickers for a moment. She sees what she thinks Damir saw during every loop: ghosts and echoes overlapping their own reality. She blinks and the visions disappear. “He’s a simple man. A solider.  _ Was_,” she amends.

“And he saved us. I would preserve his memory,” Damir replies.

She’s satisfied by the answer. Miranu tucks the sword under her arm and puts the amulet in a pocket. “Where do you think he is now?”

Ada answers as she scrolls through her datapad. “Everywhere. Nowhere.” 

“Maybe he’s a star,” Miranu muses, following the other two out of the temple and to the upper part of the city. She glances back once, then looks forward.

Damir mulls that over. When they reach the gate leading to the better party of the city, he pauses. “Can we  _ name _ a star after him?” he asks Ada.

The doctor looks up from her work. “I think we can make that happen.”

“I think he’d like that.”

“We’ll find a star,” Ada promises. “One that shines bright in the evening sky.”


	6. Alchemy of the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t always dream of her, but she is in some of them. Where did this strange woman come from? Did he see her on the street and his mind latched on to her? Whatever it is, his dreamself knows her.

He doesn’t tell her about the dreams. They’re just dreams. His mind’s way of processing things in a way that only makes sense in the dream world. It’s not like anyone would believe him. Still, he asks Delphine to read the cards for him.

“There’s a traveler,” she begins, revealing a chariot drawn by two horses. “A woman, confident.” She turns over another card: a woman bearing a crown and holding a staff.

He sees her pause for the barest of moments before turning the next card over. Six cups full of water, upside down. He catches her muttering to herself. “What does this have to do with the woman?”

“What does the card mean?” he prompts her.

Her eyes dart from the cups to the others cards, trying to make sense of it all. “It... means living in the past, forgiveness. But I don’t know what it means in regard to the woman.”

Renart keeps from reacting, his mind latching onto the dreams. But Delphine has known him for too long. His lack of a reaction is an answer of sorts. She doesn’t press.

It’s a waiting game, and this time she loses. She doesn’t say anything, merely sighs.

She has no answers.

He still has questions.

~*~

He doesn’t always dream of her, but she is in  _ some _ of them. Where did this strange woman come from? Did he see her on the street and his mind latched on to her? Whatever it is, his dreamself knows her. She’s always the same, but he’s always changing. In one dream he’s a fae, in another a woman, and sometimes he’s a man.

There's never an order to the dreams. He can only tell if it’s a good dream or an unhappy one based on the look in her eyes. But in every dream there’s a thread. It’s red. It's  _ always _ red. Sometimes it’s thin and he can barely see it, catching only a glimpse of her. Other times it’s as wide as a ribbon.

~*~

He asks for another reading. Delphine obliges, keeping her thoughts to herself as she shuffles the worn cards. This time she fans them out in a smooth motion. She wants him to choose.

“Three cards,” she tells him.

Renart is drawn to one card, but hesitates. 

Another waiting game. This time she wins.

He reaches for the card and gently pulls it out with one finger. Pulling the second one out with less hesitancy, followed by the third.

Delphine sweeps the cards back into a stack with practiced ease before turning the three cards over in the order her brother pulled them. The wheel of fortune. A woman in priestly robes. A tower with people falling from it as it is struck by lightning.

He can’t explain it, but he’s filled with dread. His chest tightens at the thought of a pain he can’t quite remember. 

Delphine doesn’t know what to tell him. Not really. She taps the first card. “Luck or destiny. The high priestess: your subconscious. Maybe intuition.” She pauses over the tower calamity. “Chaos. An upheaval.” She doesn’t know what to make of it all, so she watches him instead.

He’s gone very still in the way when he doesn’t want to reveal anything. He debates telling her about the dreams, but everything is blurred together. There’s nothing to tell except that he seems to know this strange woman in a dream.

“Thank you,” he says finally. 

The reading must make sense to him. She hopes it does. She knows he’s troubled by something. Whatever it is, she hopes he doesn’t bottle it up.

~*~

He follows the string down to the beach, where it widens to the width of a ribbon. She’s standing at the edge of the deep green sea, the surf breaking against her legs. She stares out at the horizon, honey blonde hair whipped about by the wind. He’s convinced she’s a selkie or mermaid, and when she finally notices him he half expects her to dive into the water. When she offers him a tiny smile, his heart skips a beat.

She’s there, day after day, until he finally asks if she’s waiting for a ship to return. He can’t quite read the expression on her face, but she tells him she’s waiting for her brother. She gives him a name and he promises to look. It’s an excuse to see her again.

They spend three days together, and when she gives him a true smile he forgets to breathe for a moment. But he has to leave on a ship. She’s wearing blue. He wears green.

~*~

Renart doesn’t ask for a reading this time, but he does have questions. She’s not sure what to make of it all, but she answers his questions.

Blue usually means trust, loyalty, wisdom, and represents the divine. Green means nature, life, renewal, and growth. The ocean-

She stops, then asks, “Are you dreaming?”

Renart doesn’t answer immediately. “I had  _ a _ dream, and it seemed like a memory.”

“What was the ocean like?” Delphine watches her brother’s face carefully. There’s always a mask in place with him.

“Calm, green,” he tells her. “It was a perfect day.”

She riffles through her memory. “Stability and balance. An acceptance of things at hand.”

Renart nods, his gaze distant.

She’s not sure if he’s telling her everything. He trusts her with this, and she will give him as much time as he needs to tell her what’s on his mind.

~*~

He doesn’t tell her about the red string. He doesn’t know what it means yet. He does know that most of the time, the thread is thin. He catches a glimpse of her, their paths barely crossing. Sometimes the thread is wide and he knows he’s going to see her, but the scenes pass by so quickly that he's sure it’s a dream. She’s standing on the edge of a fairy ring, then they’re dancing in a grand hall made of trees and vines. She wears blue. He’s dressed in grey and silver.

~*~

Grey, he’s told, is neutral and formal. Silver means grace and elegance. He asks for another reading.

The scales of Justice reversed, the tower struck by lightning again, and three swords piercing a heart. Unfairness; upheaval, chaos, a revelation; emotional pain, grief, hurt. In that order.

“Renart, I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on,” Delphine implores.

“I’m dreaming.”

There’s something about his voice. It’s not quite a plea. He almost seems lost, like when he came back from the war. Angry and lost.

“About the war?” It’s a guess. One that makes the most sense.

“No, about a woman. I met her by the ocean. She was waiting by the ocean, but then I had to leave.”

Delphine immediately places the first reading she did for him. She stays quiet and waits.

“There’s a fairy circle. She’s standing on the edge of it. Then we’re dancing in a great hall made of trees and vines.”

“Do you know her?”

“I do in the dreams.”

“Can you see her face?”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head. “She’s not faceless, but her features aren’t defined.”

“When did you start dreaming?”

“A few weeks ago.” He shrugs, uncertain.

She nods, thinking. What happened to trigger the dreams? 

“Why her?”

“I don’t know. Tell me if you have another dream about her.”

~*~

When he sees her for the first time he’s not sure if he’s dreaming. She’s tall. Taller than any woman he’s ever seen. Honey blonde hair and dark brown eyes.

She catches sight of him, and her eyes seem to have a glow of their own. Her limbs seems a little too long, she seems a little too tall.

He breathes again when she looks away. What was that? He knows she’s a stranger, but he’s seen her before.

Renart finds out later that the woman and her friends booked passage to Maigny. It would be close to a fortnight before they can leave. 

They look like travelers. Maybe he’s met them before and doesn’t remember. 

He doesn’t dream again until they arrive and they have a real conversation. He’s unsettled by her, but not afraid.

~*~

He dreams, and he’s angry with her. She lies to him in one dream, and in another she fights bitterly against him. The dream that hurts the most -- and the string is wide and bright red -- is when she joins him. A rebellion? An army? He’s not sure. He’s a leader. A soldier. But she can’t be with him because she’s a priestess, even though her gods have abandoned her.

If he tears down the Heavens and destroys the gods, she can be free.

He wages a war against the gods. He’s close to victory, but there’s a solider with a feathered helm leading wildmen to stop him. As they fight, the helm comes loose. The soldier is the priestess. Didn’t she know he was doing this for her?

She wins their fight. She holds him as he dies, but he can’t quite forgive her. She still wears blue. He wears black.

~*~  
Renart writes to his sister about the dreams. She tells him black represents fear, aggression, and rebellion in his dream. She suspect he’s dreaming about his past lives. There’s a lesson he needs to learn, pointing out that as a leader of the rebellion he wanted to unmake the stars for selfish reasons.

He thinks on his sister’s words as he continues to dream. They begin to bleed into the waking world. He tries to get to know her when the dreams are about happier times. She’s cautious, but he catches what he thinks is hope in her eyes. Her favourite colour is blue, like the endless sky and the fathomless depths of the ocean. When he’s angry with her, he doesn’t completely understand it. She seems to know and calmly accepts it. He sees the sorrow and pain flash in her eyes before a careful mask falls into place.

The next letter from Delphine is a card reading. The priestess, knight of staves, and the sun. The priestess he already knows, but not the others. The knight is a man of adventure, passion, and inspired action (that’s you, the letter states). The sun is success and positivity. The letter tells him to think of the sun like how it’s used in alchemy: the divine spark in Man.

It begins to fall into place. If he  _ is _ remembering past lives in his dream state, he decides that this time he’ll change things. He’ll let go of past grudges.

She still wears blue. He decides to wear green.


End file.
